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Historic Americans 



SKETCHES OF THE LIVES AND CHARACTERS OF 

CERTAIN FAMOUS AMERICANS HELD MOST 

IN REVERENCE BY THE BOYS AND GIRLS 

OF AMERICA, FOR WHOM THEIR 

STORIES ARE HERE TOLD 



ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS 

> 

Author of " Historic Boys," "Historic Girls," "The Century Book for 

Young Americans," the " True Stories " of Washington, 

Grant, and Franltlin, "A Son of the Revolution," 

etc., etc., etc. 



NEW YORK : 46 East 14TH Street 

THOMAS Y. CROVVELL cSc COMPANY 

BOSTON: 100 Purchase Street 



v 






38105 



Copyright, 1899 
By Thomas Y. Croweli, & Co. 



WOCUK-,.. _w^lV£0, 



A> If 

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PREFACE. 



It is not the intention of these stories of Historic 
Americans to go into the details of the lives and 
public services of each. It has, rather, been the 
desire of the author to touch briefly upon their 
careers, but to indicate, by the story or pen-picture 
of some pivotal event, the chief characteristic or 
impulse that led each man along the way of 
patriotism. 

There are published lives, in plenty, of these 
Historic Americans. Cyclopedias and biographical 
dictionaries give all needed dates, statistics, and 
summaries ; but if these brief glimpses — " snap- 
shots," as it were, at our grandest Americans — 
shall arouse anew an interest in our greatest 
fellow-countrymen, or shall lead the boys and girls 
of the Republic to familiarize themselves with the 
more extended life-stories of the noblest figures in 
the gallery of America's worthies, the purpose of 
this book will have been fully answered. It might 
better be called Scenes from the Lives of the 
Builders and Makers of the Republic. 

Elbridge S. Brooks. 

Boston, February, 1899. 



CONTENTS 



PAGB 

John Winthrop ' 1 

*^ENjAMiN Franklin 18 

James Otis . • 34 

George Washington 46 

Samuel Adams 60 

^Patrick Henry " , 73 

John Adams 86 

Thomas Jefferson 100 

Alexander Hamilton 115 

Robert Morris . . . .' 130 

John Jay 146 

John Marshall 161 

James Madison 175 

James Monroe 188 

^ John Quincv Adams 202 

Eli Whitney 218 

Andrew Jackson 231 

Daniel Webster . . 247 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Washington Irving 263 

Henry Clay 277 

John Caluwell Calhoun 291 

Samuel Finley Breese Morse 305 

Horace Mann 320 

Abraham Lincoln 335 

Henry Wadsw^th Longfellow 354 

Ulysses S. Grant 3G9 



HISTORIC AMERICANS 



I. 



THE STORY OF JOHN WIT^THROP, OF 
BOSTON, 

CALLED "THE WASHINGTON OF COLONIZATION." 



Born at Groton, England, January 22, 1588. 
Died at Boston, Massachusetts, March 26, 1649. 



" When his life shall have been adequately written he will 
• be recognized as one of the very noblest figures in American 
history." — John Fiske. 

On a calm, clear April morning many years ago 
three higli-sterned, square-rigged ships were slip- 
ping out of the English channel, their prows headed 
west. Cowes and Yarmouth had long been left 
behind, the Needles were far astern, and the misty 
coa,st-line of England became less and less distinct 
to starboard, as one by one the little ships steered 
into the broader waters of the widening channel. 

It was good-by to home at last; and men, women, 
and children hung gazing over the rail, curious, 
hopeful, regretful, determined, or sad, as their 
natures and desires varied. 



2 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Suddenly, through the startled* air, down from 
the masthead of the " Arbella," admiral of the fleet, 
came the warning cry of the watcher in the top, 
" Hello ! the deck ! " 

" Ay, ay ! What d'ye see aloft? " went back the 
response to the topman's hail. 

" Eight sail, sir ; well astern," the lookout 
reported. " Look like Dunkirkers, sir." 

Up from his cabin bustled Capt. Peter Mil- 
bourne, master and part owner of the " Arbella." 
He had heard the report. 

" Eight of 'em, eh ? " he remarked, peering under 
shaggy eyebrows to where, far astern, the keen 
eyes of the lookout in the top had marked the sus- 
picious sail. "Must be those Cap'n Lowe told us 
he had seen off Dunnose last night." 

He studied the weather with anxious eye. The 
wind came light, though fairly steady, from the 
north, but the practised skipper could see unmis- 
takable signs of dropping. He turned to one of 
his company, a staid but pleasant-faced gentleman 
of two and forty, plainly though richly dressed, who, 
with a boy at either hand, was looking off toward 
the filmy, almost imperceptible outlines of the men- 
acing masts far astern. 

" Well, governor, what say you? " Captain Mil- 
bourne demanded. 

" You think them to be Dunkirkers ? " queried 
the governor. 

" Like as not, like as not, sir," the skipper re- 



JOHN WIN THRO P. 3 

plied. " The Spaniards are swarming along shore 
hereabouts, from Dunkirk to the Lizard. Cap'n 
Lowe saw a good ten of 'em off Dunnose last night, 
he said. Yonder rascals may be 'em. I warned 
you of the risk, you know, governor." 

" I know, I knoAv ; and Ave took the risk, you as 
Avell as I," the governor replied. " But, for the 
end, we must be knit together in this work as one 
man. Therefore, Master Milbourne, we are in 
your hands. What you say, we do." 

" Then, if needs must, it 's fight," the skipper de- 
clared stoutly. " They have the wind of us, and 
can show a better foot than we can heels. Mate, 
clear the deck for action ; unsling the hammocks, 
free the gun-room, have the ordnance well shotted, 
hoist up the powder-chests and fireworks, order out 
the small-arms, quarter the landsmen among the 
seamen, let twenty-five act as marksmen, and have 
every man told off for his quarter. Then let 'em 
come. We '11 give the Dons as good as they send, 
or my name is not Peter Milbourne." 

"• Master of the ' Arbella ' and admiral of the 
fleet ! " added the governor with emphasis. " Count 
every landsman among us a fighter, master. 'T was 
hereabouts that Englishmen laid the Armada by the 
heels, thanks to God's mercy, the very year I was 
born. With the Lord's help we may do it again 
this day. Shall I l)id those of us who may not 
fight — the women and children, master — to go 
below ? " 



4 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" Not yet, not yet, governor," the watchful skip- 
per replied. "The Dons are far astern yet and 
the wind may shift. They can't be a-foul of us for 
hours, even if this wind holds." 

Little Adam, the younger of the two boys, looked 
up at the governor, his father, witli wide-open eyes. 

" Don't let them come, sir, the wicked Spaniards. 
I am afraid," he said. "Oh, send them off, sir! 
You are the governor." 

His brother, the twelve-year-old Stephen, re- 
garded the smaller boy with the lofty superiority 
of three yeai*s' seniority. 

" Be not afraid, Adam, while father and I are 
here," he said. " j\Iy fowling-piece is in the great 
cabin. Shall not Adam go below to the Lady Ar- 
bella, father? I will stay here and fight the Dons 
with you." 

Capt. Peter Milbourne laughed the sailor's 
hearty laugh and clapped the governor's son on 
the shoulder. 

" Spoken like a chip of the old block, lad," he 
cried. "The governor will make you general of 
his forces when he is come to New England. 
There 's spirit for you, governor." 

" Pray Heaven there be no fighting, lads ! " the 
governor made answer. "But if th*e Spaniards 
come, my brave Stephen shall rather keep up the 
little lad's heart below the decks. There is duty 
everywhere, my sod," he added. But Stephen 
already, had scampered to fetch his fowling-piece. 




CAPT. PETER MILBOURNE LAUGHED, AND CLAPPED THE GOVERNOR'S SON 
ON THE SHOULDER. 



JOHN WINTHROP. 5 

So through the morning the preparation for fight 
went on ; but, even as noon came, the light north 
wind dropped, as the captain liad feared, and tlie 
sea hiy cahn. What little wind there was held 
with the pursuing craft, and nearer and nearer they 
came. 

Then the " Arbella " signalled her consorts, the 
" Talbot," the '• Ambrose " and the " Jewel ; " and 
as they drew together Captain Milbourne hailed 
the other masters and bade them clear for action 
too. 

On each of the little ships the preparations for 
defence went quickly forward. Upon the " Ar- 
bella " the cabin houses were taken down so as to 
give a clear deck to the guns ; bedding and otlier 
inflammable stuffs were tossed overboard ; the long- 
boats were made ready for launching, and the crew 
and landsmen drawn up for action. The governor 
was foremost in all these musterings ; and for one 
of them Captain ]\Iilbourne made ready a fire-ball 
which he shot across the water to try the marks- 
men at the fire-arrow. The governor went about 
exhorting, enlivening, and strengthening, bidding 
the men stand fast for God and England, and 
seeing that the women and children were removed 
to the lower deck for safety and security. And 
so brave were his words, so lofty Avas his spirit, so 
serene his faith in the issue, that something of his 
courage and steadfastness was communicated to all 
on board that threatened ship ; for, as he himself 



6 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

assures us, "it was nuicli to see how cheerful and 
comfortable all the company appeared ; not a 
woman or child that showed fear, though all did 
apprehend the danger to have been great if things 
proved as might be well expected." So much may 
one great-hearted leader do toward strengthening 
those who rely upon him. 

All being at last read}', as lie had comforted the 
women in the cabin, he now inspired the men on 
deck ; for, when they were ready to fight, then the 
governor addressed them. 

" They are eight against four, my brothers," he 
said, " and the least of them, so our captain reports, 
carries thirty brass pieces. But we have beaten 
back the Spaniards before, even as our fathei's, by 
God's grace, overthrew the Armada. Trust me, 
we shall do it again, for our trust is in the Lord of 
Hosts and the care and courage of our captain. 
Quit ye like men, my brothers, and neither Spain 
nor Dunkirkers shall prevail against us." 

And then, the governor tells us, " We all went 
to prayer upon the upper deck," 

Strengthened hj the governor's brave words and 
stout bearing, the whole company awaited the issue 
in confidence, while plucky Captain Milbourne, 
audacious in his devices, suddenly gave order to 
the whole little fleet to come about and boldly sail 
straight against the foe. 

"If we fight, we fight," he said, "and let us 
besrin it. I '11 have this over before nieht comes 



JOHN WINTHROP. 7 

down, for delay is ever dangerous. The English- 
man's to-day is better than the Don's to-morrow." 

So, straight against the foe they sailed at high 
noon of that April day. The gunners stood at their 
pieces, matches in hand. Seamen, landsmen, gen- 
tlemen, and comrades ranged themselVes for fight, 
conscious of their danger, yet grimly resolved to 
defend valiantly to the last their precious freight 
of women and children and the cause they upheld. 
For the governor had put spirit into them all. 

The league of distance lessened to a mile, to a 
half, to a quarter ; and then captains and gunners, 
gentlemen and seamen, echoed the glad cry that 
came from the watchers in the tops. 

" Friends ! They are friends ! " was the cry, and 
Captahi INlilbourne led off his men in a ringing 
English cheer caught up and echoed by both the 
nearing fleets. 

" Ship, ahoy ! " he shouted as the foremost vessels 
drew together. '' Where from and whither bound ? " 
And soon they knew them all for friends indeed — 
the " Little Neptune " of twenty guns, with her two 
consorts, bound for the Straits, a ship of Flushing, 
a Frenchman, and three other English ships, bound 
for Canada and Newfoundland. 

And, as they met, each ship saluted ; the mus- 
keteers fired their pieces in air ; greetings and god- 
speeds were exchanged ; the " Arbella " and her 
consorts tacked about and headed again for the 
open sea, while the governor said, " God be praised ! " 



8 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

and hurried belo^^- to join Ids little sons, reassure 
tlie Lady Arbella and the other women of his com- 
pany, and write down in his journal the whole ex- 
citing story of that day's adventure and how, again, 
" God be praised," he wrote, " our fear and danger 
M-ere turned into mirth and friendly entertainment ! " 

And this is our introduction to the AVorshipful 
John Winthrop, gentleman, late of Groton, Eng- 
land, but now, in this year of grace 1630, governor 
of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay, of which 
Emigration Company those four small ships were 
the advance fleet, bound for that wild and scarcely 
known section of the western world called New 
England. 

A faithful keeper of a journal was the AVorship- 
ful Governor John Winthrop, and it is because of 
that remarkable diary that the world to-day knows 
so much of tlie Puritans of New England, and, 
reading between the lines, can so well acquaint 
itself with the bearing, the character, and the 
wisdom of that great and noble American, John 
Winthrop, of Boston town, — " the forerunner," so 
the English historian Doyle assures us, " of 
Washington and Hamilton." 

The coming of John Winthrop and his Puritans 
to Boston was not like tlie arrival of the Pilgrims 
at Plymouth. For they landed near the famous 
rock in midwinter, when 

" The woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tost;" 



JOHN WINTHROP. 9 

but Governor John Winthrop's Puritan emigrants 
went ashore in strawberry-time, when all the fair 
land along Massachusetts bay looks brightest and 
greenest, — in beautiful June, — and when, after a 
few weeks at his first settlement, called Charles- 
town, he could write to his scarcely less famous 
son, still in England, that he could see but little 
difference between Old and New England. " Here 
is as good land," he wrote, " as I have seen there, 
but none so bad as there. Here is sweet air, fair 
rivers, and plenty of springs, and the water better 
than in England." 

But sorry days were in store for the governor 
and his companions. Unused to the harsh New 
England winter that came in due season many 
sickened and died — pneumonia then as now being 
the fatal visitor. Among others his diary records 
the early death of the fair dame for whom had 
been named the ship that had brought over the 
governor ; in which she, too, had been a passenger 
when, with the governor's consent, the little vessel 
had come about and sailed straight in the teeth of 
the supposed Spaniards. Tliis was the gracious 
and gentle Lady Arbella Johnson, of whom Cotton 
Mather, the great Puritan preacher, quaintly and 
touchingly said, " She took New England on her 
way to heaven." 

But times bettered as the days went by. The 
hermit clergyman, the Rev. William Blackstone, 
who had a farm across the river on what is now 



10 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Beacon hill in Boston, told the governor of an 
excellent spring-lot near his farm, where now 
stands the big granite Boston post-office, and, so 
says Winthrop's diary, " tlie governor, with Mr. 
AVilson and the greatest part of the chnrch, 
removed thither ; whither also the frame of the 
governor's honse was carried. There people began 
to build their houses against the winter ; and this 
place was called Boston." 

That very summer of 1631 brought over the gov- 
ernor's dear wife, Margaret Winthrop, a gracious 
and in many respects a remarkable woman. How 
glad the governor was his faithful diary records. 
For it tells how the governor went down to Nan- 
tasket to meet his wife and children ; how they 
were received wiih salutes as they landed ; and how 
all the people welcomed Mrs. Wijithrop so heartily 
that, as the proud governor records, " the like joy 
and manifestation of love had never been seen in 
New England." Even Governor Bradford, of Plym- 
outh (another remarkable man who also kept a 
remarkable diary), came to pay a visit of congratu- 
lation to "his much-honored and beloved friend, 
the governor of Massachusetts," — for in that day 
Plymouth of tlie Pilgrims was a distinct settlement 
from Boston of the Puritans. 

From that time until his death, in 1649, John 
Winthrop, with but a few breaks, was governor 
of Massachusetts. With the same serene and even 
disposition that we see in Washington, Lincoln, 



JOHN WINTHROP. 11 

and other great men, he met with patience all the 
worries, disasters, and troubles, and welcomed with 
modesty all tlie joys and triumphs, that came to 
the governor of a new and growing settlement, to 
which flocked all manner of men, and in which were 
all sorts of opinions. There were rivalries and dis- 
putes which onl}' he could settle ; there were dif- 
ferences of political opinion and religious belief 
which called for his wisest counsel and calmest de- 
cision ; there were troubles witliin and without the 
borders of the little colony that demanded some- 
times stern measures, and sometimes cautious 
handling, by this clear-headed, large-hearted, noble- 
minded man. 

Winthrop's reputation in England as a respon- 
sible and honorable man, as a man of business abil- 
ity, firmness, justice, and wise administration, made 
men believe in the future of the Massachusetts 
Bay Colony, and influenced the large emigration 
that came over the sea to Boston. The colony he 
had organized grew and prospered; and though it 
went til rough many experiences in bigotry, selfish- 
ness, and unwise legislation, it is well to remember 
that to none of these was John Winthrop a party, 
although, frequently and against his better judg- 
ment, he felt the wisdom of compromise, and knew 
that peace and prosperit}' could only come by 
yielding to the will of the majority. He let Roger 
Williams go, consented to the banishment of Anne 
Hutchinson, and did not agree with the methods 



12 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of young Sir Harry Vane. But for every such 
action he had a good reason, and above even his 
own desires he placed the welfare and unit}^ of the 
colony. Under his wise administration the Massa- 
chusetts Bay Colony "grew and waxed strong;" 
settlements sprang up along the curving shore of 
the bay and pushed boldly toward the hill-country to 
the west; while, for all the firm footing and dawning 
prosperity of its early days, the Bay State may ever 
remember with reverence and pride the steadfast, 
loyal, level-headed, and great-hearted governor 
whom men have rightfully called " The Father of 
Massachusetts." 

During one of the breaks in liis own service, when 
his bitterest rival, Thomas Dudley, was governor, 
certain charges were brought against Winthrop 
because, as magistrate, he had sent to jail certain 
offenders against the law. His action had been 
just and lawful, but he appeared in answer to the 
complaint and refused to sit upon the bench, to 
which seat of honor his rank entitled him. The 
place for an accused prisoner, he said, was within 
the bar, and there he sat " uncovered " while for 
weeks the trial or " impeachment," as it was 
termed, went on. 

He was acquitted, of course, for he was in the 
right and his accusers were in the wrong. They 
were punished by fines and censure, and then only, 
his trial over, did Winthrop consent to take his 
proper seat on the bencli. 



JOHN WIN THE OP. 13 

But as he did so he asked permission to make 
" a little speech ; " and that speech has lived to this 
day as one of the noblest utterances of America, 
fit to be classed with Washington's farewell address 
and Lincoln's speech at Gettysburg. Wise, calm, 
forcible, dignified, and convincing, it is noble in its 
language, direct in its argument, patriotic in its 
motive, and almost prophetic in its statement. 
For in that speech, which is really a definition of 
true liberty, John Winthrop voiced the same high 
sentiment which, one hundred and thirty years later, 
led the patriots of the American Revolution to make 
their immortal stand for justice, liberty, and right. 

" There are two kinds of liberty," said John 
Winthrop in this remarkable speech. " One is nat- 
ural liberty, common to man and beast alike, which 
is incompatible with authority and cannot endure 
restraint. This liberty," he said, " if unrestrained, 
makes men gi'ow more evil, and it is the great 
enemy of truth and peace, needing the laws of God 
and man to restrain and subdue it." This is the 
fancied liberty that reckless and evil men, in our 
own day, falsely call liberty, and seek to break 
down just and proper laws in their efforts to obtain 
it. It is not liberty ; it is license. 

" The other kind of liberty," said noble John 
Winthrop, " I call civil, or federal ; it may also be 
termed moral, in reference to the covenant between 
God and man, in the moral law, and the politic 
covenants and constitutions amongst men them- 



14 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

selves. This liberty is the proper end and object 
of authority, and cannot subsist without it ; and it 
is a liberty to do that only which is good, just, and 
honest. This liberty you are to stand for with the 
hazard not only of your goods, but of your lives, if 
need be. Whatsoever crosses this is not authority, 
but a distemper thereof. This liberty is maintained 
and exercised in a way of subjection to authority ; 
it is of the same kind of liberty wherewith Christ 
has made us free." 

Is not this a noble and righteous utterance of a 
great truth ? How noble, right, and true it was, and 
how deeply it was burned into the hearts of all true 
patriots and loyal Americans, you can see if you 
will read this verse from a notable poem, spoken in 
the days of the Republic's stress by a young and 
patriotic American, two hundred and sixteen yeare 
after John Winthrop had made his "little speech ; " 
it was spoken, too, within the walls of that very 
college " at Cambridge, in ]\Iassachusetts," which 
John Winthrop helped to found : 

" Law, fair form of Liberty, God's light is on thy brow; 

O Liberty, thou soul of Law, God's very self art thou ! 

One the clear river's sparkling flood that clothes the bank with 

green, 
And one the line of stubborn rock that holds the Avaters in ; 
Friends whom we cannot think apart, seeming each other's foe, 
Twin flowers upon a single stalk with equal grace that grow. 
fair ideas ! we write your names across our banner's fold ; 
For you the sluggard's brain is fire, for you the coward bold ; 
O, daughter of the bleeding past ! 0, hope the prophets saw ! 
God give us Law in Liberty, and Liberty in Law ! " 



JOHN WINTHROP. 15 

And how like an echo of the great Pnritan governor's 
solemn words — " This liberty you are to stand for 
with the hazard not only of your goods, but of your 
lives, if need be " — sounds that brave closinof assur- 
ance of the immortal Declaration of Independence, 
of July 4, 1776 : " For the support of this Declara- 
tion, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine 
Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our 
lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor " ! how like 
its echo too rings the closing verse of that same 
Commencement poem in the battle-year of 1861 : 

" O, mothers, sisters, daughters, spare the tears ye fain would 

shed, 
Who seein to die in such a cause, ye cannot call them dead ; 
They live upon the lips of men, in picture, bust, and song, 
An^ Nature folds them in her heart, and keeps them safe from 

wrong. 
0, length of days is not a boon the brave man prayeth for ; 
There are a thousand evils worse than death or any war : 
Oppression with his iron strength fed on the souls of men. 
And License with the hungry brood that haunts his ghastly den ; 
But, like bright stars, ye fill the eye, adoring hearts ye draw, 
O, sacred grace of Liberty ! O, majesty of Law ! " 

So the centuries clasp hands, and the words of 
the great governor live again in the hearts of all true 
Americans to-day. " It is the same kind of liberty 
wherewith Christ has made us free," said John 
Winthrop in 1640. '• In the name of humanity, in 
the name of civilization, in behalf of endangered 
American interests which give us the right and the 
duty to speak and act, the war in Cuba must stop," 



16 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

wrote William McKinley in 1898. Liberty is not 
license, for liberty is law. 

Twelve times was John Winthrop elected gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts. As governor, magistrate, 
and soldier he gave to the organizing, upbuilding, 
and development of that struggling but successful 
colony the life and strength, the grace and wisdom, 
.of twenty busy years, and when on the twenty- 
sixth of March, 1649, aged only sixty-one, he died 
at his house on Spring lane, in Boston (where 
to-day stands the tall Winthrop building), all the 
colony mourned. " A governor," said Cotton 
Mather, the preacher, ^ who had been unto us as 
a mother, parent-like distributing his goods to 
bretlu-en and neighbors at his first coming, and 
gently bearing our infirmities without taking notice 
of them." 

What he did for his colony has blessed all 
America. His hatred of- intolerance, his bold stand 
for freedom of speech, his wisdom and generosity 
in business methods, his leniency and brotherliness 
toward all, his devotion to duty whether it were 
small or great, his high respect for law, liis pas- 
sionate love of liberty, his honesty in business dif- 
ficulties, his silence under abuse, his modesty in 
victory, his courtesy toward strangers, his devotion 
to his family, his loyalty to his friends, his great 
desire for unity among all the American colonies, 
his firm faith in the future of the land he had made 
his home, his detestation of bigotry, his courage in 



JOHN WINTHROP. 17 

time of danger, his serenity, his diligence, his public 
spirit, his self-denial, and his foresight — all unite in 
making him not alone a great man, but a great and 
historic American, worthy to stand, as one of his 
chroniclers declares, " as a parallel to Washington." 



II. 



THE STORY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 
OF PHILADELPHIA, 

CALLED BY ALL p:UROPE " LE GRAND FRANKLIN." 



Born at Boston, MaBsachusetts, January 17, 1706. 
Died at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, April 17, 1790. 



" No American lui.s attained to greatness in so many ways or 
bas made so lasting an impression on his countrymen." — John 
Bach McMaster. 

In the very heart of the great city of Philadel- 
phia, near where, to-day, the massive City building 
towers above the town, there stood, one hundred 
and fifty years ago, a humble cow-shed. Built 
as a shelter for the cattle which grazed u])on the 
public " commons " thereabout, that cow-shed, from 
a certain June day in 1752, was destined to become 
one of the most famous buildings in all America. 

For, on that June day of 1752, a stout, middle- 
nged gentleman of forty-six, and a fresh-looking 
young fellow of twenty-two, walked straight for 
the cow-shed on the commons. The younger man 
carried under his arm what looked like a bottle ; 
the older man bore a good-sized kite. 

18 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 19 

There was thunder in the air ; the clouds were 
gathering fast; there was every indication that 
a shower was coming up ; — rather an odd time 
to go kite-flying for fun ! But these two gentle- 
men did not look as if they were about to fly 
a kite for fun. Indeed, the younger man appeared 
just a bit foolish, for he was something of a 
"swell," and seemed just a trifle troubled lest 
some one might catch him at such childish sport. 
Even the older man glanced around as they neared 
the cow-shed, with the bottle and the kite, as if 
fearing that some one might recognize them and 
poke a little fun at him and his " toys." 

But if there had been such a person about and 
he had looked at the kite the stout gentleman held 
so gingerly he would have seen that it was no 
common kite. It was a good-sized one, made of a 
big silk handkerchief, and from the end of the 
central upright stick there extended a piece of 
iron wire, sharpened at the end. 

The wind was strong and the silken kite, after 
a few attempts at raising, caught the current and 
sailed flnely upward, while the young man, step- 
ping into the cow-shed, set down the bottle and 
then stood watching his father's kite — for the two 
were father and son. 

The storm came, surely enough, just as they 
expected, and the two slipped within the shelter of 
the cow-shed, and " out of the wet," anxiously 
watching the kite and the flying thunder-clouds. 



20 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The kite had been raised on a strong hempen 
string, but if you had been thQ»-e too you would 
have noticed that when the kite was well up the 
young man's father, who was flying the kite, held 
in his hand, attached to the hempen kite-cord, a 
silken string from which hung a big door-key. 
A liem-y cloud came sailing directly over the 

kite. 

"N) lightning in that, father," the young man 
observed critically. 

" None yet, Billy," his father replied. " But 
wait a bit. It may come." 

The rain came pouring down and the younger 
man looked around uneasily. 

" I 'm afraid people will think we 're a couple of 
crazy folks, flying kites in the rain," he said. 

But his father smiled serenely. 

" There are crazier folks than we are, Billy," he 
answered, anxiously scanning the cloud. " You 
know what Poor Richard says, ' Let thy discontents 
be thy secrets.' Don't you fret, my boy, if there is 
no one by to fret with you. I don't fret about 
folks ; I 'm watching for that lightning. If it 
does n't come we 're beaten — for to-day." 

It seemed for a while as if they were beaten, if 
their desires depended upon the lightning, for there 
appeared to be no electricity astir in that black 
cloud. But they waited patiently. Then, sud- 
denly, just as the kite-flyer had given a sigh of dis- 
content, his face brightened. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 21 

" Look, Billy ! " lie cried. " See the string ! The 
lil)res are rising. It 's there, my boy, it 's there sure 
enough, and I 've caught it ! " 

Something was there certainly. One by one the 
fibres of the hempen string began to rise, very much 
as you can see the hair rise on the head of one who 
stands upon the insulating stool when the teacher 
experiments in the natural philosophy class. 

" Quick, Billy I Have the jar ready ! " the experi- 
menter cried, as he applied his knuckle to the key. 
" Hurrah ! See that ! Did you see that, Billy ? A 
spark, a spark, and a good one, too I Here, take the 
string and tiy it yourself. There ! Did you feel the 
sliock ? I 've proved it, boy ! I 've proved it ! 
Charge the Leyden jar ! " 

Spark after spark was drawn from the pendent 
key by the knuckles of the excited pair. Then the 
Leyden jar — the prepared bottle that " Billy " had 
brought along — was held close to the key and 
charged with the electricity drawn from the thunder- 
cloud. And as it was charged both father and son 
received and felt through their sensitive frames an 
electric shock that well-nigh knocked them over ; 
indeed, the same electrical test, tried soon after by a 
Russian professor, quite knocked the life out of him, 
so strong and fatal was this dangerous experiment. 

But neither father nor son thought of danger. 
The philosopher had proved his theory. He had 
actually drawn down the lightning from heaven ; 
he had demonstrated the fact that electricity did 



22 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

exist in and could be captured from the clouds, and 
for the sake of that victory he would have risked 
being knocked over by his captive a hundred times. 

At last the clouds broke, the reservoir was ex- 
hausted, the wet kite was hauled in, and father and 
son went back to their pleasant home on Chestnut 
street, drenched but happy, to publish to the world 
the success of the great experiment of Benjamin 
Franklin, of Philadelphia, — a success that was to 
startle and arouse the whole scientific world of that 
unscientific day. 

For that philosophical kite-flyer was Benjamin 
Franklin, of Philadelphia, one of the most remark- 
able men that has ever lived in all tlie world. In- 
deed, there never was a man who knew quite so 
much about so many things and knew, also, how 
to turn his acquired knowledge to such good ac- 
count. From the day when as a boy, in a Boston 
pond, he showed his playfellows how to tow them- 
selves through the water by the aid of a kite, to the 
day, seventy-five years later, when he formed the 
first anti-slavery society in America, he was always 
busy over something that should lighten the labors 
or improve the condition of his fellow-men. What 
he knew lie had learned for himself through long 
and sometimes hard experience ; but failure never 
discouraged him, nor could disaster keep him 
down. 

He was absolutely what we call a self-made man. 
The son of a hard-working soap and candle maker 




SPARK AFTER SPARK WAS DRAWN FROM THE PENDENT KEY. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 23 

of Boston, he was born in the very shadow of the 
Old South Church ; but his schooling stopped alto- 
gether before he was ten years old. His self-edu- 
cation had, however, begun even at that early 
age ; it never stopped until the day of his death. 
But when that day came, late in his busy life, he had 
by patience and persistence, through steady applica- 
tion and often through harsh experiences, raised 
himself from an ill-used "printer's devil" to the 
lofty position of the most learned, the most versa- 
tile, and the best-known man of his day in all 
America, the best-known American in all Europe. 

A certain clever and admiring Frenchman once 
said of Benjamin Franklin, " He snatched the 
thunderbolt from heaven and the sceptre from 
tyrants." I have told you how, by the aid of his 
Idte and his key, he did the first ; let me try to tell 
you how, by wit and patriotism, he did the second. 

He was one of the very first Americans to teach 
his fellow-countrymen the lesson of liberty. For 
twenty-five years, from 1732, the year iii which 
Washington was born, to 1758, when Franklin was 
sent to London as the spokesman or agent for the 
colonies, this cheerful philosopher published a 
yearly pamphlet which he called " Poor Richard's 
Almanack," and which, besides talking about 
dates and the weather, was full of wise maxims 
and clever proverbs. These the people of America 
speedily learned by heart. You know some of them 
yet: 



24 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" Early to bed and earlj- to rise 
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." 

That was one of them. " Haste makes waste," 
" three removes are as bad as a fire." These all 
are familiar to-clay. But he had other sayings 
that had even deeper meanings : " God helps 
them that help themselves," he said ; " forewarned 
is forearmed," "■ deny self for self's sake," " there 
is no little enemy," " well done is better than well 
said," " one to<lay is worth two to-morrows," 
" diligence is the mother of good luck," and 
many, many others, just as short, but just as 
strong. No one knows just how much they helped 
to educate the children of one generation to be 
the self-respecting, self-helpful patriots of the next. 
Mr. Bigelow declares that "for a period of twenty- 
six years, and until Franklin ceased to edit it, this 
annual was looked forward to by a larger portion 
of the colonial population and with more impa- 
tience than now awaits a President's annual mes- 
sage to Congress." Another student of American 
history has set it down as his judgment that there 
Avould have been no American Revolution if there 
had been no " Poor Richard's Almanack." 

So wise a man could not be spared from public 
service. Long before the Revolution he had been 
called to responsible duties. He was the fii"st 
American postmaster to make the post-office use- 
ful to the people and to make it pay also. His 
advice, if taken, would have saved the colonies 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 25 

from the disgrace of Braddock's defeat; he ^yas 
the first to propose that actual union of the colo- 
nies which came finallj^ when, in 1776, the Conti- 
nental Congress, which Franklin had also favored, 
established the United States of America. He 
was one of the most important signers of the Dec- 
laration of Independence, and when the help of 
other nations was sought it was Benjamin Franklin 
who was made " sole Plenipotentiary of the United 
States to the Court of France," and it was the 
exertions of this wise and tactful but determined 
republican that wrested from a king and court 
wlio despised republicanism open recognition for 
the struggling Republic, money to carry on the war, 
and, finally, an alliance with France that sent over 
men and yet more money to America, brought 
about Yorktown and victory, and overthrew for- 
ever in America the power of King George of 
England and all his royal successors. Now do 
you not see how the second part of the clever 
Frenchman's assertion was true?- Franklin had 
indeed "wrested the sceptre from tyrants." 

His was a busy life through eighty-four impor- 
tant years. Let me tell you, briefly, just how 
his life was spent. Born, as I have said, in 
Boston in the year 1706, he was a bright, 
wide-awake, rather mischievous boy who, at ten 
years old, was set to work at candle-making, 
and at twelve years old peddled his own ballads on 
the streets of Boston. Then he was apprenticed to 



26 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

liis brother as a printer ; but because he had to do 
all the work without even thanks for j^ay he deter- 
mined to stand it no longer. So he set out to run 
away to sea, and did get as far as Philadelphia, 
wliere he went to work as a printer. There he was 
patronized by a good-for-nothing royal governor 
who sent him to England on false pretences, but 
where, because he had a trade, he did not starve, 
but worked for two years as a printer in London. 
At last he managed to get back to Philadelphia, 
where he set up a printing-office of his own on 
Market street, started a newspaper, became a 
bookseller, and published an almanac. Then he 
went into politics. He was made clerk of the 
Colonial Assembly, next postmaster of Philadel- 
phia, and, at forty-six, the king's postmaster- 
general for all the American colonies. When 
Pennsylvania got into trouble with her rulers 
across the water she sent Benjamin Franklin to 
London as her agent or representative, and there 
he served his home colony so well that his native 
colony of Massachusetts asked him to act as her 
agent also. Still other colonies followed suit, so 
that, in 1770, he was agent or representative in 
England for nearly all the American colonies. He 
faced the Parliament of England, before which he 
was summoned to answer many leading questions 
about the colonies. But he told that proud body 
the truth about America, and after remaining in 
England a dozen years or more he saw that war 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 27 

was coming and returned to America just in time 
to be sent to Congress and sign the Declaration of 
Independence. 

That same year of 1776 he was sent across the 
sea again as minister to France, and there, as I have 
told you, he secured the friendship and aid of 
England's greatest enemy, and thus ended the 
Revolution. Then, after ten years' residence in 
France, he came home again to be made president 
or governor of his own State, after which he was 
sent once more to Congress, where he helped to 
frame the Constitution of the United States, of 
which he was the oldest signer. Three yeai-s later, 
in 1790, he died at his dearly-loved home in Phila- 
delphia, at eighty-four, and closed a life remarkable 
for great acliievements and noble work for man- 
kind. 

That was a busy life indeed ! Sixty years of 
his eighty-four were spent for the good and glory 
of his native land. Three times he saved it from 
destruction, defeat, and anarchy, and he was the 
only man in all history who signed, in the course 
of his life and in the way of duty, four such great 
and immortal documents as the Declaration of In- 
dependence, the treaty of alliance between France 
and America, the treaty of peace between America 
and Great Britain, and the Constitution of the 
* United States of America. Is not that a great 
record for a great American ? 

But Franklin's services to his country were but 



28 HISTORIC AMERICANS, 

a part of what he accomplished; his services to 
humanity make an even longer catalogue. Even 
at the risk of being tedious I wish to give you a 
partial list of what America's "grand old man" 
did for the comfort, convenience, and bettering of 
mankind. 

He improved the printing-press and introduced 
stereotyping and manifold letter writing ; he sug- 
gested the practical use of kites, now being studied 
by many scientific men ; he cured chimnies of 
smoking ; improved the shape and rig of ships ; saw 
and explained the practical use of the Gulf stream ; 
and told sailors how to keep provisions fresh at sea. 
He improved soup plates for men and drinking- 
troughs for horses and cattle ; he drained swamp 
lands and made them fertile and fruitful ; he im- 
proved fireplaces, studied out an excellent system of 
ventilation, and invented stoves. He showed how 
to heat public buildings, and invented automatic 
fans to cool hot rooms and drive away flies. He 
made double spectacles for near-sighted and far- 
sighted people, invented a musical instrument, and 
improved an electrical machine. 

He taught men that lightning was electricity, 
robbed it of its terrors, and made it do the will of 
man ; he invented lightning-rods, and was the first 
advocate of the painless killing of men and animals 
by electricity — what we call electrocution. He 
started the firet spelling reform ; he got up a system 
of phonography and shorthand ; he improved car- 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 29 

riage wheels, windmills, and water-wheels ; he made 
a new departure in roofing and roof-covering ; he 
showed how oil on water would calm a rough sea ; 
suggested the discovery of the North Pole, and a 
northwest passage to Asia. He tested the pain- 
killing effects of ether ; he improved lamps and 
street-lighting, and showed how heat could be stored 
and put to practical use. He developed salt mines, 
invented sidewalks and street-crossings for Phila- 
delphia, and showed how the streets of a city could 
be swept and kept clean. 

He founded the first philosophical society in 
America, laid the foundation of our present post- 
office department, founded the first improvement 
club in America, the first free school outside of 
New England, the first public library, the first fire 
company, the first organized police force, the fii-st 
periodical magazine, and the first Pennsylvania 
volunteer militia. 

He first told the world about the living poison in 
the air — what we call microbes or germs. He in- 
troduced the idea of humanity in war, and the 
decent treatment of prisoners. He protected the 
Indians, founded the first anti-slavery society, and 
introduced into America from Europe seeds, vines, 
and veofetables never before grown in this land. 

I am not sure that I iiave given you a complete 
list ; but a few forgotten things will scarcely count 
in so long and remarkable a catalogue of the efforts 
of one man toward the bettering of his race. Do 



30 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

you wonder that I have called him one of tlie most re- 
markable men that has ever lived in all the world ? 
Even his enemies praised him, and he outlived all 
his foes. Real enemies indeed Franklin could not 
have. They simply could not remain enemies to 
such a man. " I have," he said, " some enemies in 
England ; but they are my enemies as an American. 
I have also two or three in America who are my 
enemies as a minister ; but I thank God there are 
not in the whole world any who are my enemies as 
a man. For, by His grace, through a long life, I 
have been enabled so to conduct myself that there 
does not exist a human being who can justly say, 
' Ben Franklin has wronged me.' " 

That was a grand record, was it not? But 
it was Franklin's record in all things. Lord 
Brougham, one of the ablest of English statesmen 
and scholai-s, declared that Franklin stood alone in 
combining the character of philosopher and politi- 
cian — " the greatest," he said, " that man can sus- 
tain. For, having borne the first in enlarging 
science by one of the greatest discoveries ever made, 
he bore the second part in founding one of the 
greatest empires in the world." 

His life is full of charming stories which all 
young Americans should know — ^ liow he peddled 
ballads in Boston, and stood, the guest of kings, 
in Europe ; how he worked his passage as a stow- 
away to Philadelphia, and rode in the queen's own 
litter in France ; how he walked the streets of 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 31 

Philadelphia, homeless and unknown, with three 
penny rolls for his breakfast, and dined at the tables 
of princes, and received his friends in a palace ; 
how he raised a kite from a cow-shed, and was 
showered with all the high degrees the colleges of 
the world could give ; how he was duped by a false 
friend as a boy, and became the friend of all hu- 
manity as a man ; how he was made JMajor-General 
Franklin, only to resign because, as he said, he was 
no soldier, and yet helped to organize the army 
that stood before the trained troops of England and 
Germany. These all are stories just as wonderful 
in their way as are the marvellous tales of the 
" Arabian Nights ; " but most marvellous of all is 
the simple fact of this Boston boy's career, for it 
can tell to the boys and girls of America the oft-re- 
peated story that in this Republic none can ever 
aspire too high, none need ever despair of success, 
if head and heart, brain and hand, be healthy and 
well-conditioned. 

This poor Boston boy, with scarcely a day's 
schooling, became master of six languages and never 
stopped studying ; this neglected apprentice tamed 
the lightning, made his name famous, received de- 
grees and diplomas from colleges in both hemi- 
spheres, and became forever remembered as " Doc- 
tor Franklin," philosopher, patriot, scientist, phi- 
lanthropist, and statesman. 

Self-made, self-taught, self-reared, the candle- 
maker's son gave lisrht to all the world : the street 



32 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ballad-seller set all men singing of liberty ; the run- 
away apprentice became the most sought-after man 
of two continents, and brought his native land to 
praise and honor him. 

He wrought himself into the history of America. 
For, as Mc Master says of him, "liis face is as well 
known as the face of Washington ; and, save that 
of Washington, is the only one of his time that is 
now instantly recognized by the great mass of his 
countrymen. . . . Franklin was in truth the 
greatest American then living ; nor would it be 
safe to say that our country has, since that day, 
seen his like." 

We give him therefore a front place among his- 
toric Americans, because he really was such a great 
one — great in heart as well as great in deeds. For 
Benjamin Franklin was the most evenly balanced 
man in all America. Witty, but never malicious ; 
inflexible, but never obstinate ; strong-willed, but 
never tyrannical ; the wisest man of his day, but 
never conceited ; a statesman, but never a mere 
politician ; an office-holder for over fifty yeai*s, but 
never an office-seeker, — Benjamin Franklin had all 
the attributes of greatness with none of its vices, 
all the simplicity of success with none of its selfish- 
ness. With great intelligence and wonderful 
understanding he had still greater common sense, 
and while seeking few favors for himself, no man 
ever set on foot so many works of real and practi- 
cal benevolence. He lived at peace witli the world, 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 33 

and his one regret wlien his long life came to an 
end was that he could not live fifty years longer to 
see the great advances in science and the world's 
g-ood which he was sure would come in the nine- 
teenth century. 

He built America ; for what our Republic is to- 
day is largely due to the prudence, the forethought, 
the statesmanship, the enterprise, the wisdom, and 
the ability of Benjamin Franklin. He belongs to the 
world ; but especially does he belong to America. 
As the nations honored him while living, so the 
Republic glorifies him when dead, and has en- 
shrined him in the choicest of its niches — the one 
he regarded as the loftiest : the hearts of the com- 
mon people, from whom he had sprung ; and in their 
hearts Franklin will live forever. 



III. 



THE STORY OF JAMES OTIS, OF 
BOSTON. 



Born at West Barnstable, Massachusetts, February 5, 1725. 
Died at Andover, Massachusetts, May 23, 1783. 



'■'■ From men like Otis, Independence grew; 
From such beginnings empire rose to view." 

Thomas Dawes. 

It was a raw February day in Boston town, and 
Mr. James Otis, advocate-general of the Colony 
of Massachusetts, buttoned his brown surtout 
closely about him, as he passed out througli the 
round-topped doorway of his house on Court 
street and walked briskly on toward the Royal 
Exchange tavern, or Stone's, — as the tavern was 
called " for short," — on State street. It was at 
Stone's that the lawyers and politicians of old 
Boston met to talk things over before court was 
opened in the State House across the way. 

But though the day was raw the sturdy advocate- 
general did not feel nearly so much the sharp sea- 
turn that came in from the bay, damp and pene- 
trating, as he did the responsibility that was laid 
upon him and the pinch of the struggle between 

34 



JAMES OTIS. 35 

duty and inclination. For Mr. Paxton, collector 
of customs for the king in Boston town, had deter- 
mined to put a stop to the "tax-dodging" of those 
merchants of Massachusetts who denied the king's 
right to collect such duties, and wlio smuggled or 
secreted goods in their own houses in order to 
avoid the dues. Under the laws made for the 
colony, in England, such places could be searched 
and, if resistance were made, the officers, under the 
authority of a paper called a Writ of Assistance, 
could request or compel any citizen to assist them 
in their forcible search of a private house. 

This law enraged the good people of the Bay 
Colony, but Mr. Paxton, the collector, was deter- 
niined to force his order through, and he had peti- 
tioned the Supreme Court, sitting in Boston, to 
grant these writs of assistance. It was the duty of 
the advocate-general to argue such a case as this 
before the court and secure the writ. So Mr. 
Paxton called upon Mr. James Otis, as advocate- 
general, to argue the case for the crown. 

But Mr. James Otis, the advocate-general, did 
not wish to do his official duty. He did not believe 
in the right of king or council to make such a law. 

"A man's house is his castle," he declared, "and 
while he is quiet he is as well guarded as a prince. 
If these writs of assistance are made legal no man 
is safe — • the privilege of safety at home is anni- 
hilated. Officers may enter our houses whenever 
they please and we cannot resist them. It is 



3f) HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

wrong ; it is totally Avrong. No act of Parliament 
can make such a writ stand. I cannot — I will 
not be party to it." 

James Otis was an impulsive man, of quick tem- 
per and of hasty speech, but he was a lover of right 
and justice and liberty. When he made up his 
mind, however, he was quick to act, and before the 
short walk between his house and " Stone's " was 
over he had determined upon his course. He 
would refuse to argue the writ. 

" But as judge-advocate you must argue it," 
said his friend Mr. Thacher, great lawyer and true 
patriot. " Your argument is right. The writ is not 
legal. Even what is binding in England cannot be 
used against us in America. But that is not for you 
to say. As advocate-general for the crown you must 
argue for the benefit of the crown ; there is no other 
way." 

"But there is a way, Thacher!" cried James 
Otis, turning on his friend. " It is the way of 
every honest man out of a dishonest situation. 
Here, Master Stone" he demanded in his im- 
pulsive way, and the landlord of the " ordinary " 
hurried up to answer Mr. Otis's summons ; " some 
paper and a quill, quickly, please ! " 

Then seated at a table in a quiet corner, while 
Mr. Thacher stood beside him, James Otis dashed 
off a few hasty lines and showed the letter to his 
friend. 

" That 's the way I can fix it," said he. 



JAMES OTIS. ■ 37 

It was the resignation of James Otis as advo- 
cate-general of the colony. It meant the loss of 
much practice, for which tlie crown paid good 
fees, but in the eyes of James Otis loss of money 
was not to be compared with loss of honor. 

No sooner was the fact of this resignation known 
than the merchants of Salem and Boston, the two 
ports most affected by this odious search law, ap- 
plied to James Otis to take their case and argue 
against the writ. 

It would be before this very court, in which, as 
advocate-general, it would have been his duty to 
argue in behalf of the writ, and the opportunity 
was one which his impulsive nature could not 
resist. 

'' I shall be glad to do it, gentlemen," he said 
to those who sought his aid ; but when they 
offered liberal fees in payment of his services 
Otis was as quick tempered as he had been with 
his friend Thacher. 

"Fees?" he cried; "fees, do you say? In such 
a case, gentlemen, I despise all fees," and he would 
take none ; for, in this case, resistance to what he 
considered tyranny was duty, and not a matter of 
business. 

This feeling grew within him as the time of the 
trial approached, and when, on a late day in that 
same month of February, 1761, he entered the court- 
room in the Old State House on State street, where 
the writ was to be argued, he was so inspired by 



38 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

his theme that he made one of tlie famous speeches 
of the world. 

The court-room — tliey still show it to visitor's, 
in the east end of the famous Old State House, pre- 
served as a memorial of patriotism by Boston town 
— was filled with lawyers and interested listeners 
as Otis rose to speak, for the case was one that 
affected the safety and manhood of every citizen of 
the Bay State. Down upon this opponent of 
kingly prerogative looked the full-length portraits 
of Charles and James, kings of England both, who 
held to that ridiculous theory that " the king 
can do no wrong." Five judges in scarlet robes, 
wide bands, and mighty wigs, sat to hear the 
case, and central among them as chief-justice was 
Tliomas Hutcliinson, who combined in his single 
person the lucrative offices of lieutenant-governor 
of Massachusetts, chief-justice of the Superior 
Court of the colony, governor of the castle, mem- 
ber of the council, and judge of probate. Mr. 
Thacher, the friend and associate of Otis, had just 
completed an able, but mild and moderate speech 
when the " champion of the people " sprang to his 
feet. 

Already he was tingling with his theme ; at once 
he burst into an indignant protest against the drag 
the king would place on liberty. 

' I take this opportunity to declare," Otis burst 
forth, " that, to my dying day, I will oppose with 
all the faculties God has given me, all such instru- 



JAMES OTIS. 39 

ments of slavery on the one hand, and villany on 
the other, as this writ of assistance." 

This stirred the people. One young man, who 
later became a great factor in America's indepen- 
dence and progress, John Adams, of Quincy, was so 
aroused and electrified by the words he heard that, 
fifty-seven years after, he could repeat almost word 
for word the speech of Otis — a speech which so 
aroused and awakened his patriotism tliat, as his 
grandson declared, "that speech of Otis was to 
Adams like the oath of Hamilcar administered to 
Hannibal." It made of the young man an instant 
patriot. 

" I was solicited," continued Otis, " to argue 
this cause as advocate-general ; and because I 
would not I have been charged with desertion of 
my office. To this charge I can give a very suffi- 
cient answer : I renounced that office, and I argue 
this cause from the same principle. . . . It is 
in opposition to a kind of power the exercise of 
which in former periods of English history " (here 
he glanced significantly to the two royal portraits 
on the wall) " cost one king of England his head 
and another his throne. ... I cheerfully sub- 
mit myself to every odious name for conscience' 
sake; and from my soul I despise all those whose 
guilt, malice, or folly has made them my foes. Let 
the consequences be what they will, I am determined 
to proceed. The only principles of public conduct 
that are worthy of a gentleman or a man are to 



40 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

sacrifice estate, ease, health, applause, and even 
life, to the sacred call of his country." 

Then he went deeply into the case and for four 
hours the speech went on. Into it James Otis put 
all the strength of his mind, all the force of his 
indignation, all the splendor of his eloquence, all 
the brilliancy of his magnetic power. 

Parliament, he said, could not legalize tyranny. 
"Though it should be made in the very words of 
the petition," he declared, " it would be void, for 
every act against the Constitution is void." 

"Every man," he declared, "is individually inde- 
pendent. His right to his life, his liberty, and his 
property no created being can rightfully contest ; 
these rights are inherent and inalienable." 

It was just sucli language as this that, years after, 
opened the Declaration of Independence, which 
James Otis thus inspired. 

Individuals, he said, when associated together 
as a nation for mutual protection and defence did 
not surrender their natural rights. " Our ancestors, 
as British subjects," he said, " and we their de- 
scendants, as British subjects, were entitled to all 
those rights, and we are not to be cheated out of 
them by any phantom of virtual representation or 
any other fiction of law and politics." 

Then Otis explained what taxes were, when they 
were just, and laid down the doctrine that brouglit 
on the American Revolution. " Taxation without 
representation is tyranny." Acts imposing unjust 



JAMES OTIS. 41 

or oppressive taxation, he declared, were tyrannical, 
and never had and never could be executed in 
America. " If the king of Great Britain, in per- 
son," he declared, " were encamped on Boston Com- 
mon at the head of twenty thousand men, with all 
his navy on our coast, he would not be able to ex- 
ecute those laws. They would be resisted or 
eluded." 

He grew bolder and more impassioned as he con- 
cluded. He denounced the taxation and revenue 
laws of England, " made by a foreign legislature 
without our consent, by a legislature which has no 
feeling for us and whose interest prompts them to 
tax us to the quick," Then he went on reproach- 
ing the British nation, Parliament, and king with 
injustice, illiberality, ingratitude, and oppression in 
their conduct toward the people of America, in a 
style of oratory, so John Adams reported, " that I 
have never heard equalled in this or any country." 

The grounds that James Otis took and the sen- 
timents he uttered in that famous five-hour speech 
do not sound strange to us. We have been brought 
up to believe in personal liberty, no taxation with- 
out representation, and the security of house and 
home ; we have no need for such impassioned ap- 
peals or such attacks on royalty. We have no fear 
of royalty to-day, and we have a way of speaking 
our minds if things do not go to suit us in matters 
of state. But in that day it was treason to criticise ; 
it was crime to talk of liberty ; and the words of 



42 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Otis came like a strong wind blowing down from 
the heights of freedom. 

" I do say in the most solemn manner," John 
Adams declared fifty years later, " that Mr. Otis's 
oration against writs of assistance breathed into 
tliis nation the breath of life." 

It set people thinking ; it gave them courage ; it 
put into expression that feeling that something was 
wrong in the acts of Great Britain, which, later, 
took definite shape at Lexington and Concord, and 
burst into the protest of freemen in the Declaration 
of Independence. 

" This was the opening scene of American resist- 
ance," John Adams wrote to a friend. " It began 
in New England and made its first battle-ground in 
a court-room. A lawyer of Boston, with a tongue 
of flame and the inspiration of a seer, stepped for- 
ward to demonstrate that all arbitrary authority 
was unconstitutional and against the law. Then 
and there, in that court-room, the child Indepen- 
dence was born." 

The judges were against him and their decision 
was adverse ; but the writs were not issued pub- 
licl}'. The people were aroused, and the seeds 
planted by the words of Otis in time burst forth, 
grew, and blossomed into a righteous and successful 
resistance to tyranny. His speech made patriots, 
and those patriots in time made America free. 

The story of James Otis is one of the tragedies 
of the American Revolution. His was a brief but 




THE GREAT WASHINGTON STOOPED DOWN AND LAID HIS HAND UPON 
THE HEAD OF THE SMALL WASHINGTON. 



JAMES oris. 43 

brilliant career, as sad in its ending as it was prom- 
ising at its opening. Born on Cape Cod, a student 
of law in Boston, with excellent connections, oppor- 
tunities, and abilities, he sacrificed, as he declared 
himself ready to do in that impressive speech, 
"estate, ease, health, applause, and even life, to the 
sacred call of his country." 

Enlisted on the side of the people he devoted 
himself to their cause. He neglected his private 
practice to labor in their behalf. He served them 
in the Legislature of Massachusetts, and wi'ote and 
spoke on the rights of the colonies and the evils of 
taxation without representation. He proposed and 
largely brought about the first Colonial Congress, of 
which he was a member, and when the rising spirit 
of resistance alarmed the British government and 
induced it to send troops to America and quarter 
them upon the people of Boston, Otis protested 
with all his fiery eloquence. 

When the Superior Court met in the State House 
and found a body of British troops posted outside 
the building, and even quartered within it, Otis 
moved at once that the court should adjourn to 
Faneuil hall, for, he declared, " it is utterly deroga- 
tory to this court to attempt to administer justice 
at the points of bayonets and the moutlis of can- 
non." He advocated the appointment of a com- 
mittee to remonstrate against the occupation of 
the town by an armed force, and to demand of 
the governor that this force be removed " by sea 



44 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

and land, ont of the port and the gates of this 
city." 

The boldness of his stand and the vigor of his 
language raised up many enemies for him in Massa- 
chusetts, especially in Boston, where British troops 
were stationed and Tories abounded. Otis was 
neither careful of his words nor cautious in his 
actions, and on the evening of the fifth of Septem- 
ber in the year 1764 he was set upon by certain 
Tories and British sympathizers in a Boston tavern, 
and so brutally beaten over the head as to make him 
ever after an irresponsible and often crazy invalid. 
He was the first eminent martyr to the cause of 
American independence. 

For nearly fourteen years he lived this almost 
useless life, rousing at intervals and flaming up 
into the most fervid patriotism, onl}" to break down 
at the most important moment and drop again into 
s'e mi-insanity. 

At last, on the tAventy-third of May, 1783, the 
very year that saw the triumph of his principles 
and the dawn of independence for America, he was 
struck by lightning as he stood in the doorway of 
his sister's house at Andover, and died at once, a 
brilliant intellect weakened by his own careless- 
ness and the assault of a brutal enemy. 

To-day, historians in their study of American 
history agree in proclaiming James Otis as the 
prophet and forerunner of American independence. 
He vindicated the rights of Americans to represen- 



JAMES OTIS. 45 

tation, justice, and liberty ; he was their open and 
acknowledged leader in the dawning days of resist- 
ance to British tyranny ; he led the way to organi- 
zation and action and became at once the oracle 
and guide of the patriots of struggling America. 
He was full of faults and contrasts of character, 
but to-day these all are forgotten. Impetuous and 
commanding, sound and just in his advice as a 
statesman, self-sacrificing and devoted in his stand 
as a patriot, he won a foremost place among those 
historic Americans who bore the colonies upward 
to protest, to revolution, and to victory, and by his 
burning words, which made him, as John Adams 
declared, " a flame of fire," he set alight the spark 
that burst at length into the glorious beacon-fire 
that lighted the world forward on its path of 
liberty, progress, and achievement. 



IV. 



THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, 
OF MOUNT VERNON, 

\ CALLED THE "FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY." 



Born at Wakefield, Virginia, February 22, 1732. 
Died at Mount Vernon, Virginia, December 14, 1799. 



"No nobler figure ever stood in the forefront of a nation's 
life." — John Richard Green. 

On a breezy hill-slope, overlooking a broad and 
beautiful river, there stands to-day, as it has stood 
for fully two hundred years, a comfortable stone 
farmhouse, with low, sweeping roof, wide gables, 
and ample chimneys. All about it are well-kept 
lawns studded with warlike memorials ; about it 
press close the life and bustle of a vigorous river- 
town ; while beyond it, on a sightly crest, rises a 
massive outlook — the tower of Victory. 

The place is Newburgh-on-the-Hudson ; the house 
is the old Dutch homestead known as the Has- 
brouck house, but forever famous throughout Amer- 
ica as Washington's headquarters. 

Within this stone farmhouse on a pleasant May 
day in the year 1782, in a long, low room pierced 

46 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 47 

with seven doors and but one window, sat a noble- 
looking man. Big-framed, large-featured, strong 
of face and stout of limb, his general's uniform 
of buff and blue well displayed his commanding- 
figure, while the natural dignity of his bearing 
made all about him small by comparison, and 
noticeable only by contrast. That man was Gen- 
eral George Washington, commander-in-chief of 
the armies of the United States. 

The general sat at a long, rough table upon 
which had just been served a simple meal in keep- 
ing with the plainness of the room. The single 
dish of meat had not yet been removed ; the re- 
mains of a great pie still smoked on the platter; 
beside the plates stood the half-emptied glasses 
and silver goblets ; while the Spartan dessert of 
winter apples and nuts, supplied by the farmers 
of the Hudson valley, lay scatterd about the fru- 
gal mess-table of the commander of the American 
forces. 

The general drummed silently upon the table 
with his fork — a favorite motion of his — or ab- 
stractedly picked away at the nut meats, talking 
meanwhile with his much-loved conn-ade-in-arms. 
General Knox, who was dining with him- that day. 
Farther down the table, Mrs. Washington and 
Mrs. Knox discussed with Major Villefranche, the 
French engineer, the best plan for trimming and 
decorating the great arbor under which the general 
and his guests were to joyfully celebrate the next 



48 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

week the birth of that unfortunate prince whose sad 
fate is even yet a mystery, the dauphin of France, 
son of that King Louis XVI. who, by the influence 
of Benjamin Franklin, had become the ally and 
friend of the struggling Republic. 

The general was troubled. For, now that Yofk- 
town had been won and the Republic had tri- 
umphed, the strain of the actual strife was over and 
the soldiers of the new Union had time to grumble 
and leisure to complain. It is always thus with 
every victorious army in the space betAveen the 
close of fighting and the establishment of peace. 

In this case there were ample reasons for dis- 
satisfaction and complaint. The freemen of the 
United States were jealous of a trained army, 
fearful of its power, and with the lessons of the 
past in mind, anxious to have it disbanded before 
it might misuse its strength. Their representa- 
tives in Congress shared this anxiety, and yet had 
no immediate means to pay the arrears due to the 
soldiers for years of faithful servdce, or even to 
satisfy their immediate needs. 

Unpaid, poorly fed, and still more poorly clothed, 
with their families at home suffering for the very 
necessities of life, and longing for the return of the 
bread-winners, both soldiers and officers chafed 
under the delays and negligence of an apparently 
unconcerned Congress and clamored for relief. At 
times this clamor broke out into indignant de- 
mands, even into open revolt, stilled or compro- 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 49 

misecl only by the great influence of Washington, 
who recognized the injustice of the treatment 
accorded his veterans, while at the same time he 
appreciated the financial and political weakness of 
Congress and the country. 

He, too, was aware of the possibilities of his 
trained soldiers for evil, if once they asserted their 
power and determined, as an army, to take mattere 
into their own hands. Already mutterings of re- 
volt and threats of extreme measures had reached 
him, and he knew that, should he but speak the 
word, those mutterings and threats would crystallize 
into instant action, and the liberty the army had 
fought for might be turned into anarchy or military 
despotism. When a man knows his power and is 
still a patriot, that is a sign of moral as well as of 
personal greatness. 

So, as he talked over the situation with General 
Knox and sought for some method of relief or of 
compromise, his great heart was troubled, and he 
drummed the table abstractedly. Just then Billy, 
the faithful body-servant, approached him. 

" Lettei-s, general," he said. " Colonel Tilghman, 
sir, says a courier from below has just brought you 
this," and he handed the general a letter, with the 
inquiry, " Shall I take it to your study general ? " 

" No, Billy ; if the ladies will pardon me I will 
read it here," the courteous commander replied ; 
and, on the sign of assent, he turned from the table 
and began to read the letter. 



50 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

As he read, a flush sprang to that pale face, and 
the signs of worry that sometimes marked those 
strong, cahn features gave place to astonishment, 
anger, and disgust. He read the letter through, 
laid it down, reread it, and then with a quick 
motion handed it to General Knox. 

" Read that, general," he said, and watching his 
friend's face resumed again the fork-drumming that 
was the accompaniment to deep thinking. 

" Another, eh ? " said Knox, as the first words 
of the letter met his eye. He looked at the signa- 
ture. "From Colonel Nicola, at the camp. I've 
heard him talk before. Well, what does he say ? " 
And the hero of Trenton, Monmouth, and York- 
town, the great general's faithful comrade and 
friend, dashed through the letter with characteristic 
speed. 

Even as he read, the frown on the face of Wash- 
ington deepened and then disappeared ; the flush of 
anger reddened perceptibly, and then faded from 
cheek and brow ; dignity and calm came again to 
a countenance not often marked by the passionate 
nature that, nevertheless, lay deep in the heart of 
this remarkable leader of men. Then, as the eyes 
of Knox sought those of his chief in faith and 
inquiry, Washington took the letter from his hand 
and, without a word, rising from the table he 
passed into the room that served him as a study. 

The ladies turned an inquiring eye upon the 
general of artillery. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 51 

" His Excellency laid no ban upon me, ladies," 
Knox said in reply to those questioning glances. 
" I think I betray no confidences when T say that 
he has received the most singular and uncalled-for 
letter I have ever known to be sent him. Colonel 
Nicola, ladies, despaire of the Republic. He urges 
the general to use the army for the setting-up of 
an energetic government, and, it would seem, in its 
name, invites George Washington, of all men, to 
make himself king of America." 

That, indeed, was in substance the contents of 
the letter brought by special courier to Washing- 
ton, as he sat at dinner in the Hasbrouck house at 
Newburgh on that May day in 1782. It was the 
opportunity that had come to great leaders before 
his day, that has come to them since. Csesar, Crom- 
well, Napoleon, all were tempted with this dream 
of power, and each one of them either dallied with 
it, and compromised, or yielded to it, and fell. 

But George Washington was made of nobler 
stuff than either of these men, great and noble 
though they were. The dream of sovereign power 
found no place in his unselfish heart. He hesi- 
tated not a moment. Indeed, he spurned the prop- 
osition, sa Professor Channing assures us, " in a 
manner which has separated him from all other 
successful leaders in civil strife since the days of 
the Roman republic." At once he despatched his 
answer to the veteran who had sought to swerve 
him from the duty of patriotism. ■ 



52 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" With a mixture of surprise and astonishment," 
he wrote Colonel Nicola, " I have read with atten- 
tion the sentiments you have submitted to my 
perusal. Be assured, sir, no occurrence in the 
course of the war has given me more painful sensa- 
tions than your information of there being such 
ideas existing in the army as you have expressed, 
and which I must view with abhorrence and repre- 
hend with severity. ... I am much at a loss 
to conceive what part of my conduct could have 
given encouragement to such an address, whicli to 
me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can 
befall my country. If I am not deceived in the 
knowledge of myself you could not have found a 
person to whom your schemes are more disagree- 
able. . . . Let me conjure you, if you have 
any regard for your country, concern for youreelf 
or posterity, or respect for me, banish these thoughts 
from your mind, and never communicate, as from 
yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the like 
nature." 

That settled the king-making idea. Never again 
did a man dare, by such a proposition, to assail the 
honor or misjudge the patriotism of George Wash- 
ington, gentleman. 

To me, boys and girls, that instant of surprising 
temptation, righteous anger, and indignant reply 
marks one of the greatest moments in the life of 
America's greatest man — " tjie only man, in fact," 
so Lord Brougham, the Englishman, declared. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 53 

" upon wlioiii the epithet ' great,' so thoughtlessly 
lavished by men, may be justly bestowed." 

The story of the life of George Washington, 
soldier, statesman, and patriot, is known to all 
Americans. But let us briefly recall it here. It 
can never be told too often. 

In a plain little farmhouse, set in the midst of 
broad acres bordering upon a beautiful river, George 
Washington was born on the twenty-second of 
February, 1732. To-day the place is known as 
Wakefield. It is in Westmoreland county, in the 
State of Virginia, and a trim white shaft now marks 
the site of the long-vanished farmhouse of Augus- 
tine Washington, the father of America's mightiest 
man. 

There was nothing in the surrounding of George 
Washington, or in his upbringing or advantages, 
that could have foretold the future greatness of the 
small boy who played upon the green banks of the 
Potomac. But he grew slowly, through a healthy 
and happy boyhood, to a helpful and noble man- 
hood. He was the best kind of a boy : manly, if 
sometimes self-willed ; generous, if sometimes over- 
masterful. He was fearless, daring, good-natured, 
quiet, and orderly, — a boy that hated a lie, never 
did a mean or underhanded action, and early 
learned the lesson of obedience to parents, respect 
toward older people, and kindness to all. 

He was a strong and active boy. In all the 
section in which he lived there was no better run- 



54 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ner or rider, wrestler or athlete. He loved the 
I sea, but gave up his wish to become a sailor be- 
cause his mother needed him at home. He became 
a surveyor, tramped over the broken and forest- 
fringed lands of Virginia, until he was as much 
at home in the wood as a trapper, and knew and 
loved that free, healtli-giving forest life. Even at 
sixteen he was a sinewy, athletic, handsome young 
fellow, almost six feet tall, well-shaped though a 
trifle lean, long-armed, energetic, strong, and mus- 
cular. He had light-brown hair, grayish-blue eyes, 
a firm mouth, a frank and manly face, and he had 
a way about him that attracted people to him and 
made them like him, even though he was quiet, 
undemonstrative, and retiring, while there was in 
his face a look that compelled people to obey him 
whenever he was in a position to direct, counsel, 
or command. 

Such a position came to him even while he was 
a young man. He was brought into active service 
as one of the promising young fellows of the Colony 
of Virginia, simply because he was to be relied 
upon, and knew just what to do in times of trial 
or danger. The young surveyor became a soldier 
and led an expedition against the French trespassers 
on English territory when he was but twenty-one 
years old. He displayed an ability in leadership 
that set people to talking about him even then, 
and when, by his bravery and coolness alone he 
saved from utter massacre that disoraceful defeat 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 00 

of Braddock which Benjamin Franklin, as I have 
told you, tried to prevent, people talked about 
young George Washington all the more, and began 
to look to this strong, quiet man for advice and 
guidance. 

When at last trouble actually did come between 
the thirteen American colonies and their mother 
country, England, and war at last began, the Ameri- 
can people needed a leader to command their xarmies 
and fight their battles. At once this strong-souled, 
persistent, manly Virginia colonel was selected. 
He left his beloved home at Mount Vernon beside 
the broad Potomac, answering the call of Con- 
gress, and thus at forty-four George Washington 
became the general-in-chief of the undisciplined 
but patriotic American army. 

You know the story of his military career. For 
seven years he was alike leader and mainstay of 
the Americans through the long and bitter war for 
independence known as the American Revolution. 
Slowly but surely he developed into a great gen- 
eral. Others might doubt the issue, but his faith 
grew ever firmer; others might despair, but he 
clearly saw the end ; when others wavered he stood 
unmoved, serene, and confident. 

He made an army out of a mob ; lie wrested 
victory from defeat and made even his disasters 
incentives to fresh effort. He was never cast down 
by failure, never dismayed by treachery, never 
headstrong in the hour of triumph. He planned 



56 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

perfectly. His retreats were victories, his surprises 
were successes, even his defeats were steps toward 
mastery. Jealousies did not move him, conspira- 
cies did 'not weaken him, treason did not unman 
him. Alike through defeats and successes he kept 
steadily on along the path of dut}^ striking telling 
blows where they were most needed and when they 
were least expected, until by his patience, his per- 
severance, his confidence, and his ability, he carried 
the struggling people who trusted him and the 
army who followed him implicitly on from the 
masterly siege of Boston to the final victory at 
Yorktown, and was hailed as deliverer and con- 
queror, the patriot of patriots, and the Father of 
his Country. 

When the new nation was at last firmly estab- 
lished, and the Constitution of the United States 
which he had helped to frame became the law of 
the land, George Washington, by the voice of the 
whole people, was chosen to direct the affairs of 
the Republic. He was twice elected president of 
the United States, and through eight trying and 
burdensome years he served his country as its chief 
executive with the same unselfishness, the same 
pure patriotism, the same high sense of duty, the 
same wisdom and ability, that had made him the 
successful leader in the war for independence, and 
went into history as America's greatest soldier 
and mightiest man in the early days of the Repub- 
lic. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 57 

Then, his duty done, his labor over, his great 
life-work completed, he became once again a farmer 
and conntry gentleman at his dear Mount Vernon 
home, and there, on the fourteenth of December, 
in the year 1799, he died at sixty-seven, beloved 
by America and honored by all the world. 

" The purest figure in history," Mr. Gladstone, 
the Englishman, has called him ; and while all 
nations are divided in opinion as to their greatest 
men, all the world unites in elevating Georoe 
Washington to the undisputed place which one 
thoughtful student of mankind has given him — 
" the greatest man of our own or any age." Let 
all the young people of America who may question 
the enthusiastc verdict of Washington's own coun- 
trymen as " a bit biased " read the glowing lines of 
Byron, the poet of England's supremacy, in which 
he described for Englishmen the great American : 

" Where may the wearied eye repose 

When gazing on the Great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes, one — the first, the last, the best — 

The Cincinnatus of the West, 
Whom envy dared not hate — 

Bequeath the name of Washington, 
To make men blush there was but one ! " 

Truth is not always the real truth when told by 
flaw-hunters. The " true Georg-e Washinorton " is 
something nobler than latter-day critics can draw 



58 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

for us, and as you seek to sum up the life of the 
most historic of Americans you can set down this 
of George Washington: He had his failings, as 
all men have ; but no man in all the world had so 
few, or was so completely the conqueror of himself. 
As a boy he was honest, upright, truthful, obedient, 
and brave, the leader of his playmates, a boy whom 
all his comrades admired, looked up to, and followed. 
As a young man he was reliable, adventurous, 
courageous, manly, pure, and strong, never a grum- 
bler, a shirker, or a boaster, never a bully, a time- 
server, or a self-seeker. As a man he was what we 
call a leader of men ; he was clear-headed, clean- 
hearted, seeing what was to be done and doing it, 
or setting others to do it when he had shown the 
way, never trying to get the best of others, never 
jealous himself or disturbed by the jealousies of 
smaller men, however hard they tried to upset his 
carefully laid plans or assail his reputation ; he 
was a planner of great things and a doer of them 
as well — just the man for just the work demanded 
in vv'ell laying the foundations of a great nation. 

A lover of children, a lover of his country, a 
lover of liberty, of order, and of law, a patriot in 
the highest sense of the word, — such was George 
Washington. The farmer boy of the Potomac be- 
came the noblest of rulers. In truthfulness, in 
integrity, in endurance, in wisdom, in justice, in 
devotion to duty and loyalty to purpose, he stands 
supreme, at once the model to those in authority, 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 59 

an ideal and example for us all. " Fii-st in war, 
first in peace, fii-st in the hearts of his country- 
men," he will ever stand a noble and enduring 
memory, and the boys and girls of America can 
never go far wrong or be untrue to the Republic so 
long as they read and reread and take to heart in 
all honor, reverence, and love the glorious story of 
George Washington, of Mount Vernon. 



V. 



THE STORY OF SAMUEL ADAMS, OF 
BOSTON, 

CALLED "THE FATHER OF THE REVOLUTION." 



Born at Boston, Massachusetts, September 27, 1722. 
Died at Boston, Massachusetts, October 2, 1805. 



" A man whom Plutarch, if he had only lived late enough, 
would have delighted to include in his gallery of worthies, — a 
man who, in the history of tlie American Revolution, is second 
only to Washington — Samuel Adams." — John Fiske. 

The fugitives paused on the crest of a ridge just 
beyond Granny's hill, and looked back toward the 
town. In the east the day was just breaking, for 
the dawn comes early about Lexington in April ; 
through the scant spring foliage they could catch 
glimpses of the vanishing forms of Sergeant Munroe 
and his guard of eight minute-men, from Captain 
Parker's Lexington company, for this escort had left 
the fugitives on the Woburn road, and had at once 
hurried back to join their comrades on the Common. 

Only a little while the watchers waited ; then 
there came to their ears from the village green the 
indistinguishable command which all the world has 

(50 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 61 

heard now, better than did those listening fugitives 
on the distant hill : '^ Disperse, ye rebels ! ye cow- 
ards, lay down your arms and disperse ! " Then 
followed other indistinguishable shouts, the fatal 
pistol shot, never yet explained, the rattle of arms, 
and the historic, unanswered volley that made up 
the battle of Lexington. And as these sounds 
climaxed in the volley of British guns one of the 
fugitives on the hill turned on the other and made 
what is set down as " one of the few exultant out- 
bursts of his life." 

" What a glorious morning is this for America ! " 
he exclaimed ; for he knew that the result he had 
long foreseen had come at last, and in what he con- 
sidered the right way. The British soldiere had 
fired firet ; the blame and the responsibility were 
theii-s ; conciliation was impossible ; the conflict 
had begun. England was in the wrong. 

For a brief space they stood, listening intently ; 
then, not knowing what orders concerning them 
the vindictive Gage had given his redcoats, the 
two fugitives hurried on to Burlington, and thence 
to Billerica, where they made a substantial dinner 
off cold salt pork and boiled potatoes, served in a 
wooden tray. Tlieii they were up and off again. 
And so at last they made their risky way to Phila- 
delphia and the Continental Congress. 

For those two fugitives on the Lexington hill 
on that nineteenth day of April, in the year 1775, 
were two historic Americans — Samuel Adams, the 



62 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

patriot, and John Hancock, whose bokl signature we 
know so well as it heads the signers of the Declara- 
tion of Independence. And it was Samuel Adams 
who made the enthusiastic remark, as upon his ears 
fell the crack of the British guns at Lexington. 

He had long been preparing for that important 
event. Away back in his college days he had felt 
it coming. For at Harvard he had made resistance 
to tyrants the theme of his Commencement oration : 
" Is it lawful to resist the supreme magistrate if 
the Commonwealth cannot otherwise be protected ? " 
And the young A.]\I. distinctly announced that it 
was not only lawful but imperative. From that 
day forward the right of Ameiicans to resistance 
and to liberty had been his chief thought, even 
when others repudiated the idea of independence, 
and reiterated their loyalty to the king. 

But Samuel Adams educated the people to re- 
sistance. To the neglect of his business and his 
personal comfort and desires he took up the grand 
idea of personal liberty and direct representation, 
and drew his fellow-countrymen away from old to 
new truths. 

Samuel Adams was Boston born and bred. 
Reared in his father's fine old house on Purchase 
street in that sturdy, democratic old town, he was 
instructed in its schools, developed amid its in- 
fluences, and early called to share in its affairs, as 
a sober-minded, well-balanced, public-spirited young 
man. 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 63 

He was an associate of James Otis in all plans 
that touched the public welfare, distancing even 
that ardent and impulsive patriot in his opposition 
to British measures and methods. He made tlie 
life of the royal governor Bernard a burden and 
finally forced him from his post ; he waged a never- 
ending feud with Hutchinson, chief-justice and later 
governor; he fought with vigor the kingly attempts 
to fasten a state church upon Puritan New Eng- 
land ; he succeeded to the leaderehip of the patriot 
party when Otis had been beaten into insanity ; he 
denounced unsparingly and unceasingly the quar- 
tering of British troops in Boston, and, after the 
Boston massacre, actually succeeded in having the 
obnoxious regiments removed from the rebellious 
town; he led and strengthened public opinion 
through the colony by his advice to the towns and 
his practical use of the great power of the town- 
meetings — those assemblies in which New Eng- 
land people freely spoke their minds ; he organized 
the opposition of the people against the hated 
Stamp Act and advised the action that led to the 
famous "• Boston tea party ; " by letters and speeches, 
by conferences and counsel, he drew his countrymen 
into a union for mutual protection against the en- 
croachments of the British crown ; he helped form 
the Committees of Correspondence by which the 
different colonies came into touch and accord with 
each other on the subject of concerted action; he 
advocated the Conoress of the Colonies which James 



64 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Otis had first proposed, and he labored to bring it 
about ; he went as a delegate to the first Continen- 
tal Congress at Philadelphia, and there took a 
stand as the uncompromising opponent of all 
concessions to the British crown and as the open 
advocate of independence ; he recommended and 
took part in the Provincial Congress of IVIassa- 
clmsetts at Concord, and when, in the Continen- 
tal Congress, fears were expressed lest the bold 
stand of the colonies should lead to an open 
rupture with England, it was Samuel Adams who 
bravely declared, " I should advise persisting in 
our struggle for liberty though it were revealed 
from heaven that nine hundred and ninety-nine 
were ^ to perish and only one of a thousand to 
survive and retain his liberty. One such free- 
man," he said, " must possess more virtue and 
enjoy more happiness than a thousand slaves ; let 
him propagate his like and transmit to them what 
he has so nobly preserved.'' 

So bold and outspoken an eneni}^ to kingly au- 
thority could not but be a marked man, and it is no 
wonder that the British government wished to 
silence him, or that Gage, tlie British commander 
in Boston, sought to arrest and imprison Samuel 
Adams as a rebel to the king. That watchful 
patriot was wary, however, and the general was slow 
to act. But when Adams saw that more soldiers 
were coming from England he warned the people to 
be ready for tliem and to oppose, if need be, an ex- 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 65 

pedition of troops out of Boston to search for con- 
cealed arnis or warlike supplies. 

It was this warning that led to the active prep- 
arations of the New England militia, and especially 
of the minute-men of Massachusetts ; it was this, 
therefore, that induced the rallying of the minute- 
men when Paul Revere and his compatriot, William 
Dawes, galloped out from Boston to warn the 
country towns of the coming of the regulars ; and it 
was because of this that we may claim for Samuel 
Adams the credit and responsibility for the now 
immortal battle of Lexington. 

When that clash came Samuel Adams saw that 
his determined and persistent efforts had at last 
borne fruit ; he felt that resistance to tyranny had 
indeed taken form, and that the spirit of the people 
was aroused for a stand for right, for justice, and 
for liberty. Do you wonder, then, that, as he and 
John Hancock, arch-rebels both, and fugitives from 
British oppression and persecution, stood on Granny 
hill in Lexington, on the nineteenth of April, 1775, 
and heard from tlie Common the sounds of resist- 
ance and conflict, he should have exclaimed thank- 
fully and with an enthusiasm not often displayed 
by one so sober and self-contained, " What a glorious 
morning is this for America " ? Li that open act 
of popular resistance Samuel Adams, patriot and 
lover of liberty, recognized the dawning of a new 
day for America — the sunrise of independence. 

When the tidings of that bloody day at Lexington 



66 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

and Concord and the tidings of the twenty-mile 
harrying of the redcoats by the aroused farmers 
of Middlesex were speeding through the colonies, 
arousing them to action, Samuel Adams was posting 
south to Philadelphia to join his associates in the 
second Continental Congress. That Congress was 
still slow to act, and while they hesitated and tem- 
porized, considering new and useless appeals to king 
and Parliament, Samuel Adams stood almost alone 
as the champion of absolute independence. Gradu- 
ally, however, men came to his opinion ; one after 
another they joined him in his firm and uncom- 
promising stand, and at last on the fourth of July, 
1776, Samuel Adams saw the fulfilment of his 
hopes and the fruitage of his high desires in the 
passage and signing of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. For Samuel Adams," so one writer 
declares, " that was the most triumphant moment 
of his life." 

Even his enemies admitted his great power in 
this leadership of the forces of revolt. One of 
them said of him at that time : " Samuel Adams is 
the Cromwell of New England ; to his intriguing 
arts the Declaration of Independence is in great 
measure to be attributed ; " and Governor Hutch- 
inson, then a fugitive in London, assured King 
George that Samuel Adams was the arch-rebel of 
the colonies, for the reason that " he was the first 
that publicly asserted the independency of the 
colonies upon the kingdom." 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 67 

As for Samuel Adams's .fellow-countrymen, we 
are told how they regarded him in those years of 
his crowning triumph. John Adams, of Massachu- 
setts, his kinsman and associate in Congress, de- 
clared that " Sam Adams was born and tempered 
a wedge of steel to split the knot of lignum vitce 
that tied America to England." Josiah Quincy, 
an ardent patriot, seeking health in England, wrote : 
" I find many here who consider Samuel Adams 
the first politician in the world. I have found 
more reason every day to convince me that he has 
been right when others supposed him wrong ; " and 
Thomas Jefferson said, " If there was any Palinu- 
rus " — that is, pilot — " to the Revolution, Samuel 
Adams was the man. Indeed, in the Eastern 
States, for a year or two after it began, he was, 
truly, the ' Man of the Revolution ; ' and of his 
influence in the Continental Congress Jefferson 
said, " Samuel Adams was so rigorously logical, so 
clear in his views, abundant in good sense and 
master always of his subject, that he commanded 
the most profound attention whenever he rose in 
an assembly by which the froth of declamation was 
heard with the most sovereign contempt." 

How far he was the " Man of the Revolution " 
in New England, as Jefferson declared, you have 
seen in the brief summary of his fearless actions 
in behalf of independence, and his education of the 
people of the Massachusetts towns in lessons of 
liberty. But with the signing of the Declaration 



68 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of Independence his great life-work practically 
came to an end. " Had he died then," one of his 
biographers admits, " his fame would have been as 
great as it is now. What further he accomplished, 
though often of value, an ordinary man might 
have performed." He seems to have l)een raised 
up to show the people the only clear path to inde- 
pendence ; after that the leadership was taken by 
others. 

Historians tell us that Samuel Adams was what 
they term " the architect of ruin " — that is, he 
carefully and persistently planned the overthrow of 
kingly authority in America ; that was his mission ; 
he was fitted neither to plan nor organize the suc- 
cessful Republic. You can see from the glimpses 
I have given you of the man and his career that 
his work was destructive rather than preservative. 
He was, as you ha^^e seen, a rebel against the Brit- 
ish throne from boyhood, and this in spite of the 
fact that both he and his father were, at one time in 
their lives, tax-collectors for the crown. You have 
seen that almost his fii-st notable oration at college 
was a plea for resistance to tyranny, and tliat his 
entrance into public life was as the declared oppo- 
nent of the kingly prerogative. He was the leader 
and chosen representative of the restless and aggres- 
sive people — the "tribune of the yeomanry," as 
some one called him. He advocated and orofanized 
rebellion ; he urged on the farmers of Middlesex 
to stand their ground at Lexington and Concord ; 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 69 

and when they had " fired the shot heard round the 
world," as Emerson puts it, none was more jubi- 
lant, none more enthusiastic, than Samuel Adams. 

This was all destructive work, you see, — the over- 
throw of constituted authority in America. When it 
came to upbuilding, the new nation looked to other 
hands than those of Samuel Adams. Throughout the 
Revolution he served in the Congress, but his posi- 
tion was rather that of a critic than a leader. And 
when the government began to take definite shape, 
and the plan of departments that was finally adopted 
as most practical was proposed, Samuel Adams 
strongly opposed it. He objected to the establish- 
ment of a State Department, of a War Department, 
and of a Treasury Department — the leading execu- 
tive branches of our government and the chief 
presidential helpers. Instead, he advocated the out- 
grown and cumbersome conduct of those important 
departments by committees of Congress, as had been 
the method during the Revolution. It would have 
been a great mistake had his plan been carried 
out ; but even in this opposition he was the same 
Samuel Adams — fearful of the concentration of 
authority in the president, fearful lest that office 
become a " one man power " or tyranny, and desir- 
ous of having all government and all direction come 
from the people, through committees selected from 
them — the people whose servant and leader, whose 
advocate and mouthpiece, he had been so long. 

He disliked to exchange the old Articles of Con- 



70 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

federation of 1781 which he had helped draw up 
for the Constitution of 1789, under which we live 
to-day. The Constitution would centralize things, 
he feared; the independence of the separate and 
sovereign States would be given up ; and so, not 
liking the new order of things, he went home to 
Massachusetts. 

There he worked in his beloved town-meetings — 
the people's tribunals — to help the Common- 
wealth of Massachusetts prepare and adopt a State 
Constitution ; there he served the Commonwealth 
as lieutenant-governor and governor ; and there he 
outlived the century which he had helped to make 
both notable and historic, dying at last on the 
second of October in the year 1803, in his house on 
Winter street in his beloved home-town of Boston, 
— so beloved by him and so much a part of his very 
existence that one of his associates and fellow- 
workers declared, in just a bit of good-natured com- 
plaining, " Samuel Adams would have the State of 
Massachusetts govern the Union, the town of Bos- 
ton govern Massachusetts, and Samuel Adams gov- 
ern the town of Boston. Then, he believes, the 
whole would not be ill-governed." Samuel Adams, 
you see, was a patriot for his own times and genera- 
tion. The Samuel Adams of the America of 1775 
would be out of place, lost, and confounded in the 
America of 1900. 

How much his State and town revered the stout 
old patriot let me show you. 



SAMUEL ADAMS. 71 

There had been an election in Massachusetts — 
the hotly contested State election of 1800. The 
political opponent of the old ex-governor had been 
elected, and he himself was rather despairing of the 
Republic. Inauguration day came, and, up Winter 
street in Boston town, marched the great procession 
escorting the governor to the State House on the 
hill. There Avere bands of music, flags and banners, 
parading troops and political clubs, all jubilant over 
their victory and filling the narrow Boston street 
with noise and show and color. 

As they passed the modest house on the corner 
of what is to-day Winter street and Winter place 
and where, in recent years, a tablet has been erected 
in honor of " the Father of the Revolution " who 
once lived on that corner, the old patriot, then nearly 
eighty years old, was observed by the new governor 
watching the parade from his window. 

" Halt ! " commanded the governor-elect, and pro- 
cession and music alike came to a stop. Then 
stepping from his carriage, while the troops pre- 
sented arms and the people waited uncovered, the 
new governor — political rival and opponent though 
he was — stood with bared head and extended 
hands before the door of Samuel Adams, and, in a 
few brief but tender words, did graceful honor to 
his political opponent — the patriot and leader of 
the people, whose efforts had freed the colonies and 
given liberty and independence to the land. 

For the times comes the man. Revolution was 



72 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

inevitable, and God raised up Samuel Adams to be 
its organizer and earliest leader. Beneath the 
bronze statue of this historic American Avhere it 
stands amid the rush and bustle of what is now 
called Adams square in the city of Boston you 
may read this estimate of the man : " A statesman 
incorruptible and fearless." And that is strictly 
true. As rugged and immovable as the great 
bowlder that, as the century closes, has been placed 
above his resting-place in the Old Granary bury- 
ing-ground, in Boston town, Samuel Adams was at 
once grand and noble, — a fearless, sincere, unyield- 
ing, and incorruptible patriot, — a true American. 

And free America owes much to Samuel Adams. 
He proposed the Revolution ; he advocated the 
Continental Congress ; he signed the Declaration 
of Independence ; and was so sharp a thorn in the 
side of the British Government and of the British 
generals that they tried first to bribe and then to 
kill him. But they could neither bribe nor kill 
him. He lived to see the redcoats of King George 
driven from Boston and, in time, from America ; 
he lived to hail the final triumph of the principles 
for which he labored and suffered, and to see the 
people whose welfare he held above all selfish con- 
siderations of gain or position free and indepen- 
dent Americans, beginners and designere of a nation 
whose greatness even he could not comprehend or 
prophesy. 



VI. 



THE STORY OF PATRICK HENRY, OF 
VIRGINIA. 



Born at Studley, Virginia, May 29, 1736. 
Died at Red Hill, Virginia, June 6, 1799. 



"Patrick Henry disdained submission; by him Virginia rang 
the alarm bell for the continent."— George Bancroft. 

" A KING, by annulling or disallowing acts of so 
salutary a measure, from being the father of his 
people degenerates into a tyrant, and forfeits all 
right to his subjects' obedience." 

The young lawyer paused for an instant ; but in 
that instant men had sprung to their feet. " Trea- 
son ! Treason ! " came the cry from difPerent parts of 
the crowded court-room, and Mr. Lyons, the oppos- 
ing counsel, appealed hotly to the bench where sat 
the young lawyer's own father as presiding justice. 
"Treason; the gentleman has spoken treason," he 
cried. " Will your woi-ships listen to that without 
showing your disapproval?" 

Their worships said nothing. Instead, they sat 
mute and spellbound under the surprising flow of 
eloquence from the lips of one whom they had con- 
sidered neither orator, pleader, nor lawyer, but who 



74 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

now, at one bound and by a sudden burst of 
eloquence, sprang into popularity, fame, and leader- 
ship. 

The place was the stuffy little court-house in the 
county-seat of Hanover, in the Colony of Virginia ; 
the time was the first day of December, 1763 ; the 
man was Patrick Henry. 

He was arguing on the wrong side of an impor- 
tant case, in which both law and precedent were 
absolutely against him. It was a case of taxes, in 
which the council of the king of England had 
deliberately and contemptuously set aside a law 
made by the colony. In this case the king's council 
was right as to judgment, but wrong as to action. 
The law it " disallowed " was an unjust one ; but 
the high-handed manner in which king and council 
overruled and annulled it was not to be borne by 
the liberty and justice loving colonists who had 
enacted it. 

That was the way in which the matter appeared 
to Patrick Henry, when, as a forlorn hope, he took 
up a case which other lawyei-s would not touch. 
" The king of England has no right to meddle in 
the law-making of this colony. Virginia can look 
out for hereelf," he said, and in this spirit he de- 
fended a losing case and by his eloquence, earnest- 
ness, and argument overruled the judgment of the 
court, turned a defeat into victorj', and won the 
case he had championed for his clients — the 
people. 



PATRICK HENRY. 75 

This celebrated ease — known in American 
history as " the Parson's Cause " — made the name 
and established the fame of Patrick Henry as a 
resistless pleader and an impassioned orator. Up 
to that date he had not been a success. The son of 
a Virginia gentleman of small means, young Patrick 
Henry was left to himself for amusement and 
education, obtaining a good deal more of the first 
than of the second. He was a careless, happy-go- 
lucky country boy of the pleasant region of middle 
Virginia, loving hunting and fishing more than 
study and loafing more than books, never suc- 
ceeding at anything, and sticking to nothing long. 
He failed as a farmer, failed in business, married 
a tavern-keeper's daughter when he had nothing 
on which to support her, and, failing at every- 
thing else, hastily concluded to ivy the law. He 
failed even in his examinations for that, and was 
only admitted to the bar through the good-nature 
of one of the examining lawyers and because of 
his own success at arguing the other out of a 
careless indifference. Such a man does not seem 
fitted to champion a great cause or teach new 
ideas to an energetic people. But something 
above the opportunity that lay beneath the Par- 
son's Cause inspired and held young Henry; it 
gave him an earnestness that surprised and an 
eloquence that electrified his hearers ; and those 
who hung their heads for shame when Patrick 
Henry began to speak, lifted him from the floor as 



76 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

he proceeded, and bore him out on their shoulders 
wlien he had concluded. 

From that day success and fame were his. He 
sprang into instant popularity as " the people's 
champion." Practice as a lawyer flowed in upon 
i him ; he gained advancement in his own colony and 
\power as a politician. He turned over a new leaf. 
He was no longer shiftless or unsteady. Popularity 
brought him business, and business brought him 
money ; as a result he became an influential coun- 
try gentleman with an estate of his own, with ad- 
mirers and supporters throughout Virginia, and 
with the ability to gratify his leanings towards 
political preferment that speedily gave him posi- 
tion and importance. He was elected a member 
of the Virginia House of Burgesses, or Legislature ; 
he became a political leader in Virginia, was sent 
as a delegate to the first and second Continental 
Congresses, was the firet commander of Virginia's 
Revolutionary army, and was three times gov- 
ernor of Virginia. His fame spread throughout 
the land, and any office in the gift of the new na- 
tion might have been his had he cared to accept it. 
But he wished for no ofiice. He declined to serve as 
member of the Constitutional Convention, as United 
States senator, as secretary of state, as governor 
of Virginia for the fourth time, as chief-justice of 
the United States, as ambassador to France, and as 
vice-president of the United States. He declined, 
you see, even more than he accepted office. 



PATRICK HENRY. 11 

You know what gave him his greatest fame and 
led the people of the United States to know, to 
honor , and to respect him. It was his famous ora- 
tion in old St. John's Church in Richmond, an ora- 
tion that has not yet ceased ringing in the ears of 
Americans, and which, in certain of its impetuous 
utterances, has become a part of the proverbs and 
maxims of the Republic. Let me try to draw for 
you the picture of that remarkable speech in which 
he urged the arming of the Virginia militia in 
resistance to the British authorities ; for, as Profes- 
sor Tyler says, " it is chiefly the tradition of that 
one speech which to-day keeps alive, in millions of 
American homes, the name of Patrick Henry, and 
which lifts him, in the popular faith, almost to the 
rank of some mythical hero of romance." 

It is a plain and unpretending little church to- 
day as it stands almost on the summit of one of 
beautiful Richmond's sightly hills, — Church hill, it 
is called, — at the corner of Broadway and Twenty- 
fourth street. Small as it is, the church is to-day 
much larger than it was on tliat day in 1775 — 
Tliui-sday, the twenty-third of March — when, ris- 
ing to his feet, in the pew still shown to visitors 
and marked by a memorial tablet, Patrick Henry 
threw down the gauntlet to King George and 
declared war on the haughty prerogative of Great 
Britain. 

The second Revolutionary convention of Virginia 
was assembled in that old church on the hill in 



78 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Richmond. The first convention had met at 
Williamsburg the year before and had sent to the 
Continental Congress such representative Vir- 
ginians as George Washington, Richard Henry 
Lee, Benjamin Harrison, and Patrick Henry, 
with others of equal ability, if of less prominence. 
There Patrick Henry, as pronounced an advocate of 
open resistance and organized protest as Samuel 
Adams, of JNIassachusetts, had advocated a union of 
all the colonies for mutual protection and defence 
against the aggressions of England, with equal 
representation and equal interests for all, saying 
grandly, as he pled for unity, " The distinctions 
between Virginians, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, 
and New Englanders are no more. I am not a 
Virginian, but an American ! " 

And now the second Revolutionary congress of 
Virginia had met to debate upon the question 
whether Virginia should declare for peace or war. 
Everywhere, throughout the colonies, the people 
were restless ; everywhere there was talk of resist- 
ance, and from Massachusetts bay to Charleston 
harbor the local military companies were being 
organized for possible emergencies, and drilled 
to the use of arms. But prudence was keeping 
men back from act or speech that might be deemed 
aggressive ; prudence was still holding men loyal 
to the king. 

So, when the question of arming the militia of 
Virginia came up in the colonial convention, and 



PATRICK HENRY. 79 

Patrick Henry introduced a resolution " that this 
colony be immediately put into a posture of de- 
fence and a committee be appointed to prepare a 
plan for embodying, arming, and disciplining such 
a number of men as may be sufficient for that pur- 
pose," prudence interfered to prevent so menacing 
a move. 

" The resolution is premature," objected some of 
the more conservative membei's. " War with Great 
Britain may come," they said ; " but it may be pre- 
vented." 

" May come ? " exclaimed Patrick Henry ; " may 
come ? It has come ! " And then, rising in his 
place, in that narrow pew in old St. John's, he 
broke out into that famous speech which now, as 
Professor Tyler remarks, " fills so great a space in 
the traditions of Revolutionary eloquence." 

Tall and thin in figure, with stooping shoulders 
and sallow face, carelessly dressed in his suit of ; 
" parson's gray," Patrick Henry faced the president \ 
of the convention, who sat in the chancel of the 
church, and began calmly, courteously, and with 
dignity. 

" No man, Mr. President," he said, " thinks more 
highly than I do of the patriotism as well as tlie 
abilities of the very honorable gentlemen who have 
just addressed the house. But different men often 
see the same subject in different lights ; and, there- 
fore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to 
those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of 



80 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

a character very opposite to theii's, I should speak 
forth my sentiments freely and without reserve." 

Then he flung aside courtesy and calmness. 

" This is no time for ceremony," he told them 
hotly. " The question before the house is one of 
awful moment to the country. For my own part, 
I consider it as nothing less than a question of 
freedom or slavery, . . . 

" Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, 
through fear of giving offence, I should consider 
myself," he declared impressively, " as guilty of 
treason toward my country, and of an act of disloy- 
alty to the majesty of Heaven, which I revere above 
all earthly kings." 

Then he begun his argument with that sentence 
which is still as a household word in the mouths of 
men : " Mr. President, it is natural for man to in- 
dulge in the illusions of hope ; " and, showing how 
under existing circumstances hope was but a false 
beacon, and experience was the only safe guide, he 
called attention to the armament of England, and 
demanded : " I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this 
martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to 
submission ? " 

Impressively he showed them that England's 
display of might was meant for America, " sent over 
to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the 
British ministry have been so long forging." 

He demanded how his associates intended to 
oppose this British tyranny. Argument had failed, 



PATRICK HENRY. 81 

entreaty and supplication were of no avail, com- 
promise was exhausted ; petitions and remon- 
strances, supplications and prostrations, were alike 
disregarded — "we have been spurned with con- 
tempt from the foot of the throne," he said. 

" There is no longer," he declared, " any room 
for hope. If we wish to be free, ... if we 
wish not basely to Ubandon the noble struggle in 
which we have been so long engaged," — he paused, 
and then, as one of his hearers said, " with all the 
calm dignity of Cato addressing the senate ; like 
a voice from heaven uttering the doom of fate," 
he added solemnly but decisively, — " we must 
fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal 
to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left 
to us." 

Then, his calmness all gone, his voice deepening 
and his slender form swayed with the passion of 
his' own determination, he flung himself into that 
fervent appeal for union in resistance that we all 
know so well : 

" Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. 
There is a just God who presides over the destinies 
of nations, who will raise up friends to fight our 
battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong 
alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. 
. . . It is now too late to retire from the con- 
test. There is no retreat now but in submission 
and slaver3\ Our chains are forged. Their clank- 
ing may be heard on the plains of Boston. The 



82 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

war is inevitable ; and let it come. I repeat it, sir, 
— let it come ! " 

Can you not almost hear that wonderful voice as 
it makes that terrible invitation with all the force 
of confident faith and repressed enthusiasm ? Can 
you not almost see that swaying form, those forci- 
ble gestures, that face stern with purpose? Old 
men there were, years after its utterance, who could 
not forget that tremendous speech nor how, with 
their eyes riveted on the speaker, they sat, as one 
of them expressed it, " sick with excitement." 

And then came that ending — one of those im- 
mortal bursts of eloquence, a fitting climax to 
what had gone before : 

" It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gen- 
tlemen may cry. Peace, peace, but there is no peace ! 
The war is actually begun. The next gale that 
sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the 
clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are 
already in the field. Why stand we here idle? 
What is it that gentlemen wish? What would 
they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, 
as to be purchased at the price of chains and sla- 
very ? Forbid it. Almighty God ! I know not 
what course others may take, but as for me give 
me liberty or give me death ! " 

That wonderful speech has lived in men's mem- 
ories and hearts for far over alinndred j^ears. For 
other hundreds it will live as one of the trumpet 
calls leadincT men to fi^ht for freedom or to die free 




"BUT AS FOR ME, GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH.' 



PATRICK HENRY. 83 

men. To stand in that veiy pew in old St. John's, 
as I have done, and to recall that notable speech, 
thrills and inspires any true American. That 
speech has made Patrick Henry live forever as 
America's impassioned orator; but better still, it 
turned Virginia, as in a flash, for independence, and 
made her stand side by side with Massachusetts, 
leaders and coworkei^ in the fight for liberty. 

How ready Patrick Henry was to live up to 
his grand principles of liberty or death we may 
discover in his story. Froin the convention he went 
speedily to the field. He was made commander-in- 
chief of Virginia's Revolutionary army, as George 
Washington was of the Continental forces, and 
almost the first overt act of the war in Virginia, 
so Thomas Jefferson declared, was committed by 
Patrick Henry. With five thousand hurriedly gath- 
ered minute-men he marched upon the king's 
governor. Lord Dunmore, at Williamsburg and 
demanded the stolen powder of the province or re- 
paration for its loss ; and the king's governor wisely 
judged discretion to be the better part of valor and 
sent his receiver-general with three liundred and 
thirty pounds to pay for the stolen powder. Tlien 
he issued a proclamation declaring " a certain 
Patrick Henry " an outlaw and rebel ; but the people 
of Virginia hailed the " outlaw " as their leader, and 
heaped him with honors, in the way of thanks and 
addresses. 

There are many points of resemblance in the 



84 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

careers of Samuel Adams and Patrick Henry. 
Both were "architects of ruin," opponents of pre- 
rogative, foes to kingly authority. Both led the 
attack of the people upon British tyranny and by 
their matchless labors, with voice or pen, organized 
revolt, set on foot revolution, and showed the way 
to liberty and independence. Then, their higher 
mission accomplished, their work fell into other 
liands, and they, who had been leaders, became on- 
lookers and critics. Each one was governor of 
his native State, and each felt alike the sun of 
popularity and the gloom of misrepresentation and 
defeat. Both enjoyed a well-merited old age, though 
Adams outlived his colleague alike in years and 
honors. 

I have told you that Patrick Henry declined 
more honors than he accepted. One reason was, 
not that he could not march with the Republic, 
but because of continued ill-healtli, which so often 
dulls the edge of energy, makes a man critical, and 
keeps him dissatisfied. Alike the friend and critic 
of Washington, Patrick Henry was also friend and 
critic of the Republic he had helped to found, lov- 
ing it for its liberty, but despairing, sometimes, of 
its future because things were not done as he would 
like to see them. 

He retired from public life largely because t)f 
criticism ; for, you see, there was a great deal of 
criticism in the air in those early days of the Re- 
public, and criticism of his acts was one thing that 



PATRICK HENRY. 85 

Patrick Henry could not stand. Impetuous as 
James Otis, determined as Samuel Adams, like both 
those fervent patriots Patrick Henr}^ chafed under 
restraint and hated to have his motives called in 
question. There are, after all, very few such su- 
perbly patient, gloriously self-governed men as 
George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. 

But impetuosity is sometimes inspiration. This, 
at least, was one cause of Patrick Henry's elo- 
quence. As an orator he had remarkable powers ; 
but as a leader he was often uncertain and some- 
times headstrong, to his own detriment and his 
country's peril. 

But after all, it is as one who moves by the magic 
of his words that Patrick Henry's claims to re- 
membrance as an historic American chiefly rest. 
Above everything else he was an orator ; and it is 
as the orator of resistance, of liberty, and of patriot- 
ism that he has our loving and grateful reverence 
and will be remembered by America forever and 
ever. 

His later years were spent in peaceful pursuits 
upon his beautiful farm at Red hill near historic 
Appomattox ; and there he died on the sixth of 
June, 1799, surrounded by loving friends and 
mourned by America as its chief and most effective 
orator in the stormy days of protest and revolu- 
tion. 



VII. 

THE STORY OF JOHN ADAMS, OF 
BRAINTREE, 

CALLED "THE COLOSSUS OF INDEPENDENCE." 



Born at Braintree, Massachusetts, October 30, 1735. 
Died at Quincy, Massachusetts, July 4, 1826. 



'■'• There is not upon the earth a more perfectly honest man 
then John Adams. Concealment is no part of his character. 
. . . I know him well, and I repeat that a man more per- 
fectly honest never issued from the liands of his Creator. — 
Thomas Jejferson. 

There was worry, uncertainty, and anxiety in 
the second Continental Congress. In the east 
room of the ever-famous and ever-precious Inde- 
pendence hall in Philadelphia the members sat or 
walked and talked, disconcerted and perplexed. 
They had organized revolution ; they had plunged 
into war; and now they needed a leader for the 
soldiers they had summoned to fight the battle 
against British oppression, invasion, and assault. 
Collisions were frequent ; forces were divided ; 
the army lacked unity and leadership, and where 
could be found the right man for the important 
post of connnander-in-chief ? . 

86 



JOHN ADAMS. 87 

Boston was beseiged b}' a patriot army. In 
New York the Tories " durst not show their heads." 
In Philadelphia two thousand men were under 
arms. In Virginia the militia was ready and wait- 
ing. Something must be done speedily, but it must 
be done well, for success in the field and a system- 
atic conduct of the war depended upon the man to 
whom should be given the charge and oversight of 
this enthusiastic spirit of war. 

• The Congress was divided. Leaders of ability 
there were, each with his following and supported, 
but none had the unanimous approval of the mem- . 
bers, who must decide as to selection and authori- 
zation. Jealousies and divisions were already appar- 
ent and threatening, as each section advocated the 
claims of its favorite for the chosen head of the 
army ; something, it was seen, must be done speed- 
ily if the army of the Congress was to take the 
initiative and fight the power of Great Britain on 
the offensive rather than the defensive ground. 

Then it was that a Massachusetts man rose to 
the situation. He had his personal likes and dis- 
likes, for he was a man of strong feelings and pro- 
nounced ideas. But he sunk all these for what he 
esteemed the public good. If a New England army 
led by a New England general fought the fight it' 
would be, he said, a New England rather than an 
American quarrel, and, above all things else, John 
Adams, of Massachusetts, wished to nationalize and 
not localize the American Revolution. 



88 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

He made up his mind speedily. On a certain 
June morning, in 1775, on his way to the session 
of the Congress in Independence hall, he caught 
his cousin and colleague, Samuel Adams, by the 
arm, and said emphatically : 

"We must act on this matter at once. We must 
make the Congress declare for or against something. 
I '11 tell you what I am going to do. I am deter- 
mined this very morning to make a direct motion 
that Congress shall adopt the army before Boston, 
and appoint the Virginian, Colonel Washington, 
commander of it. What do you say ? " 

But Samuel Adams would say nothing. He was 
not yet ready to give the prize to a Southern rather 
than a Northern soldier, and although he esteemed 
Colonel Washington he would not agree to waive 
his preferences for Heath or Ward or Hancock. 

So John Adams acted upon his own responsi- 
bility. As soon as that day's session of the Con- 
gress had opened he took the floor and intro- 
duced a motion of precisely the nature confided to 
his cousin, Samuel Adams. Of course, it would 
not be like John Adams not to explain his motives, 
so he made a little speech, in which he reminded 
Congress of the perilous situation of the colonies, 
their need of united and systematic military protec- 
tion, the uncaptained condition of the army at 
Cambridge, the perfection and discipline of the 
British soldiers whom the Americans must face in 
fight, and the absolute necessity, if victory Avere to 



JOHN ADAMS. 89 

be achieved, of bringing this army under the 
authority of Congress, and the appointment of a 
commander subject to Congress and trained to ser- 
vice. 

" Such a gentleman I have in mind," said lionest 
John Adams, drawing nearer to the phm he had 
at heart ; and, at the words, those members of 
Congress who had favorite generals, or those who 
themselves desired the position of commander-in- 
chief, became deepl}" interested, or tried to look 
unconscious. Those members from New England 
who wished General Heath or General Ward se- 
lected, those othere who had already decided that 
the Irish adventurer Lee was the only fit man for 
the post, prepared to advance the claims of their 
favorite, while ambitious and aristocratic John 
Hancock, the president of the Congress, was confi- 
dent that he Avas the man in Mr. Adams's mind, 
and looked correspondingly pleased and prepared. 

But the next words of John Adams dispelled all 
these dreams of leadership : 

" I mention no names, but every gentleman here 
knows him as at once a brave soldier and a man of 
affairs. He is a gentleman from Virginia, one of 
tills body, and well known to all of us. He is a 
gentleman of skill and experience as an officer; 
his independent fortune, great talents, and excel- 
lent universal character would command the ap- 
probation of all the colonies better than any other 
person in the Union." 



90 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

At these significant words Mr. John Hancock's 
face dropped suddenly. He thought that, of 
course, his friend and colleague, Mr. Adams, had 
meant him. The other advocates of special fa- 
vorites were disgusted and disappointed ; for every 
member of tlie Congress knew who the gentleman 
from Virginia was ; but the majority welcomed 
the suggestion as settling a hard question, and 
they were quite ready to support Mr. Adams's 
motion. 

But as all eyes in the room turned in one direc- 
tion, as they recognized Mr. Adams's description, 
a modest, sturdy-looking gentleman, in a colonel's 
uniform of buff and blue, flushed uncomfortably 
with surprise, hurriedly rose from his seat among 
the delegates from Virginia, and slipped from the 
room, seeking refuge in the library. 

It was Colonel George Washington, of Virginia. 
But that motion of John Adams's saved the country ; 
for, two days after, on the fifteenth of June, 1775, 
after the question had been quietly discussed, the 
disappointed ones won over and the timid ones 
brought around, Mr. Johnson, the delegate from 
Maryland, made a formal motion, based on John 
Adams's suggestion, and George Washington was 
unanimously elected, by ballot, commander-in- 
chief of the Continental army, so called to dis- 
tinguish it from the British force then besieged in 
Boston, and usually styled the Ministerial army. 

John Adams lived lone- enough to see what a 



JOHN ADAMS. 91 

wise and patriotic thing he had done when, setting 
aside all local prejudices and colonial selfishness, 
he had named the Virginian colonel for com- 
mander-in-chief. For that action brought into 
service and developed into greatness America's 
choicest, noblest, and most efficient man. He 
lived to see George Washington the saviour of his 
country, the victor over its foes, and its first pres- 
ident; while he, John Adams, of Massachusetts, 
was associated with him as the first vice-president 
of the Republic, and became his immediate succes- 
sor in office, as the second president of the United 
States. 

The story of this famous son of Massachusetts is 
one of constant action, progress, appreciation, and 
advancement. Born on the thirteenth of October, 
1735, he was forty years old when the American 
Revolution broke out, and was recognized at that 
time as the clearest mind and wisest head in all the 
long list of New England patriots. The little old 
Braintree farmhouse in which the " Father of the 
Fourth of July " was born still stands, a treasured 
relic, in what is now known as the city of Quincy, 
a few miles to the south of Boston. 

His father was a thrifty farmer of the thrifty Bay 
Colony, worth perhaps seventy-five hundred dollars 
in lands and stock. But he put his son John 
through Harvard College, from which the boy 
graduated at twenty, and after tliat let him strike 
out for himself as a schoolmaster in Worcester. 



92 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Then lie became a lawyer in Boston and Braintree, 
heard that famous speech by James Otis in the Old 
Boston State House against the writs of assistance, 
and was so moved and stirred by it that he became 
at once an earnest and active advocate of protest, 
resistance, and finally of independence for America. 

His intelligence and ability were speedily recog- 
nized by his associates and the people. He was 
sent by them as a representative to the Legislature 
— the Great and General Court it was called in 
those days ; and when Massachusetts decided upon 
union of action he was one of the five Massachu- 
setts delegates sent to the first Continental Con- 
gress in Philadelphia. From that day on, for fully 
fifty years, he was prominently before the country 
as one of its best and chosen men, a typical New 
Englander, a patriotic American. 

Bold, outspoken, upright, and true, he was some- 
times conceited, opinionated, long-winded, and 
brusque ; but his faults were far outweighed by his 
virtues ; for he always had what is called the cour- 
age of his convictions, and no man dared more or 
was ready to sacrifice more for the cause of inde- 
pendence and the Republic than John Adams, of 
Braintree. The acts and deeds for which America 
remembers him are many ; but the first was espe- 
cially significant. This was his manly defence of 
the British soldiers, unwisely tried for murder 
after the affray with the street mob known as the 
"Boston massacre" of 1770, — all the more manly 



JOHN ADAMS. 93 

because there was no bolder patriot than John 
Adams, but there was none more desirous of seeing 
fair play than he. This stands out as his earliest 
" act of fame." The others are his demand for a 
Continental army and his proposing of George 
Washington as its commander-in-chief, in 1775, 
of which I have just told you ; his speech on the 
first of July, 1776, which resulted in the adoption 
of the Declaration of Independence ; the recogni- 
tion, secured by him from Holland, of the United 
States of America as a nation and the timely loan 
of money which he obtained from the thrifty but 
friendly Dutch when the young American Republic 
was sorely in need of funds — both accomplished 
by him in 1782 ; the great treaty of peace with 
England which he "put through" in 1783; his 
patriotic keeping the peace with France when he 
was President, in 1800, and when every one was 
shouting for war ; and last, but by no means the 
least, his brave, bold struggle for religious liberty 
in Massachusetts in 1820, when the rugged old 
patriot was old in years but young in energy. 

In wise and broad humanity, in bold and out- 
spoken loyalty, in practical and helpful patriotism, 
there is no American who can show a better record 
as there are few to be held in more lasting remem- 
brance than this same honest, stanch, stout, cour- 
ageous, fussy, hot-tempered, but always fine old 
patriot John Adams, of Quincy, second president 
of the United States. 



94 HISTORIC AMERICANS 

People have called him the " Father of the Fourth 
of July," not only because he was instrumental in 
making that day famous as a proposer and signer 
of the immortal Declaration of Independence, but 
because it was John Adams, of Massachusetts, who 
saw at once the deep and lasting meaning of that 
great act, and prophesied its celebration by all 
Americans in later ages. We call it the fourth, but 
it was really the second of July, 1776, the day on 
which Congress passed the famous resolution intro- 
duced by Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, declaring 
the United Colonies of America to be free and in- 
dependent States. It was on that day, writing home 
to his patriotic wife in Quincy, — Abigail Adams, 
one of America's noblest and most remarkable 
women, — that John Adams made his memorable 
prophecy. 

"The second of July, 1776," he wrote, "will be 
the most memorable epoch in the history of America. 
I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by 
succeeding generations as the great Anniversary 
Festival. It ought to be commemorated by solemn 
acts of devotion to Almighty God. It ought to be 
solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, 
games, sports, guns, bonfires, and illuminations from 
one end of the continent to the other, from this time 
forward, forever more." 

The formal Act of Declaration was signed on 
the fourth day of July, but that was really only a 
ratification of the work of July second, so that we 



JOHN ADAMS. 95 

can fairly allow to John Adams the claim of being 
the prophet and father of our glorious Fourth of 
July. 

This was by no means John Adams's firet bit of 
prophecy. For when he was quite a young fellow, 
in 1755, the very year of Braddock's defeat, he de- 
clared that if the American and English soldiers 
succeeded in driving the French power from Canada 
the American colonists would increase and grow so 
strong that in another century they would exceed 
the British, and then, he added significantly, " All 
England will be unable to subdue us." 

That prophecy has indeed come true ; and to-day, 
as the twentieth century opens, the England that 
John Adams defied and the America he helped to 
build are drawing closer together as " brothers-in- 
blood," rivals and foemen no longer. 

It is well to recall the public services of John 
Adams, who, not liking public life, was yet con- 
tinually in it for over forty years, always doing his 
duty honestly and fearlessly, like the honest and 
fearless man he was. A member of the first and 
second Continental Congresses, he was also elected 
chief-justice of Massachusetts, first secretary of war 
to the Republic, — or war minister, as he called it, — 
envoy and minister to France, Holland, and Eng- 
land, vice-president of the United States, and then 
president ; he closed his career, as I have told you, 
as a member of the convention called to prepare a 
new Constitution for Massachusetts into which he 



96 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

labored hard to introduce a clause permitting abso- 
lute religious tolerance in the Bay State. But the 
home of the wise and bold, though harsh and often 
bigoted ministers of the Puritan days was not yet 
ready for this open welcome to all religions — the 
efforts of the old man of eighty-five were not then 
successful ; but to-day the State he loved so dearly 
and worked for so unselfishly follows the aged 
patriot's wise counsel, and opens wide its doors to 
all who, in different ways, but in a common spirit of 
toleration, serve the Lord after their own fashion 
and desire. 

The life of John Adams was filled with great 
purposes and great endeavors; to it were linked 
many of the grand events that have long since 
become historic, and, as a fitting close to so notable 
a life, he died on the anniversary of the day he had 
helped to make famous, the Fourth of July, 1826, 
the fiftieth anniversary of the American Repuljlic. 

Like Governor John Winthrop, of whom I have 
told you, John Ada)ns kept a diary. Lideed, he 
kept one nearly all of his life, and this diary, with 
the letters to his gifted wife, have been a never- 
failing source from which to draw descriptions of 
events, now historic, of men and manners long since 
passed away, and of the early, formative, sprouting 
days of the Republic. Men often write too much 
and talk too much, so that personalities fre- 
quently get them into trouble. This was some- 
times the case with John Adams. He loved to 



JOHN ADAMS. 97 

gossip ; he was careless as to what he said about 
people, and he frequently got into trouble and 
turned former friends into enemies, especially men 
of prominence and patriotism like Jefferson and 
Hamilton. But we can forgive his eccentricities 
and indiscretions when we remember how much 
of good he did in his day and generation ; especially 
may we be lenient when we discover that the cut- 
ting things John Adams said about people were 
very often true, and either led them to change 
their way or opened their eyes sufficiently to enable 
them to see the right way to do things. 

He had said a great many hard things about 
George, king of England, and King George had 
certainly said many hard things about John Adams, 
chief rebel. In fact, there were points about each 
of these men that were similar, though what in 
King George we are quick to call obstinacy in John 
Adams we recognize as firmness and loyalty to 
principle! Both were strictly honest and very 
plain-spoken, so when they met, at the time John 
Adams was sent to England as the first minister of 
the United States to the Court of St. James, people 
wondered what they would say to one another and 
who first would lose his temper. 

But those who expected an explosion were dis- 
appointed. John Adams had gone to school to ex- 
perience and had learned to keep his temper and how 
to drape the bare truth with the veil of diplomacy. 
We can imagine the meeting. The short and 



98 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

stout American of the Yankee type is presented to 
the short and stout Englishman of the German 
type ; each hating the otlier cordially, but both hav- 
ing the courtesy and dignity to treat each other like 
gentlemen. 

They met in the private apartments of the king at 
St. James palace, known then as the king's closet. 

" I think myself more fortunate than all my fel- 
low-citizens," said the first minister from the king's 
revolted colonies now acknowledged a nation, " in 
having the distinguished honor to be the firet to 
stand in your majesty's presence in a diplomatic 
character ; and I shall esteem myself the happiest 
of men if I can be instrumental in recommending 
my country more and more to your majesty's royal 
benevolence and in restoring an entire esteem, con- 
fidence, and affection, or, in other words, the old 
good-nature and the old good-humor, between 
people who, though separated by an ocean and 
under different governments, have the same lan- 
guage, a similar religion, and kindred blood." 

And the king, evidently affected and with a tre- 
mor in his voice, replied as honestly as John Adams 
had spoken. 

" I will be very frank with you, sir," he said. 
" I was the last to consent to the separation ; Imt 
the separation having been made I will be the first 
to meet the United States as an independent power. 
The moment I see such sentiments as yours prevail 
and a disposition to give this country the preference, 



JOHN ADAMS. 99 

that moment I shall say let the circumstances of 
language, religion, and blood have their natural and 
full effect." 

This being concluded, the king, who detested the 
French, intimated that he had understood that 
Mr. Adams did not like the French as much as 
some Americans did. Whereupon John Adams, 
" embarrassed," as he tells us in one of his delight- 
ful letters, " but determined not to deny the truth 
on one hand nor leave him to infer from it any 
attachment to England on the other," boldly Ijtit 
pleasantly replied : " That opinion, sir, is not mis- 
taken. I must avow to your majesty I have no 
attachment but to my own country." 

" An honest man will never have any other, sir," 
the king replied with a bow, and the two honest, if 
obstinate men separated, not loving each other any 
better, but with an increased respect for each other's 
sincerity, courage, and loyalty. 

Sincerity, courage, and loyalty were indeed the 
three things that marked John Adams's life and 
made him the safe and reliable guide for the Re- 
public in its days of struggle and beginning. It 
was these that led his fellow-countrymen to place 
so many responsibilities upon him, to trust in his 
wisdom and have faith in his ability, and, at last, 
to raise to the highest position in their gift the 
strong, truth-loving, devoted patriot, whom, in the 
days of '76, men had delighted to call " the Colos- 
sus of Independence." 



VIII. 

THE STORY OF THOMAS JEFFERSON, OF 
MONTICELLO, 

CALLED " THE FATHER OF THE DECLARATION." 



Bom at Shailwell, Virginia, April 2, 1743. 
Died at Mouticelio, Virginia, July 4, 1826. 



" Neither national independence nor state sovereignty were 
the controlling aim and attempt of his life ; no party or tem- 
porary advantage was the object of his endeavors. He fought 
for the ever-enduring privilege of personal freedom." — Paul 
Leicester Ford. 

In an upper chamber in a plain, unpretentious 
brick house on the corner of Seventh and Market 
streets in the city of Philadelphia a man sat at a 
table writing. The paper rested before him on a 
little travelling writing-desk ; the completed sheets 
lay beside it, scattered about the table ; the quills, 
" mended " for immediate use, Avere in the opened 
drawer ; and every now and then the writer, paus- 
ing, would catch up a sheet and read, half-aloud, a 
completed paragraph . 

He was a tall, slim, somewhat sharp-featured man 
of thirty-two, over six feet in height, and straight 
as an arrow, sandy-haired, red-faced, hazel-eyed, 

100 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 101 

frank and earnest of countenance, large and strong 
of limb. His name was Thomas Jefferson, and he 
was a delegate to the Continental Congress from 
the Colony of Virginia, the home of brave, deter- 
mined, and able men. 

There came a rap at the door, and laying aside 
his pen Jefferson rose, with a cheery " Come in ! " 
to welcome his visitor. The new-comer was a big, 
stout, impressive, and pleasant-faced old gentleman 
whose picture every boy and girl in America knows 
at sight to-day — Benjamin Franklin, of Pennsyl- 
vania. 

" Well, Brother Jefferson, is the fair copj- made?" 
he asked. 

" All ready, doctor," replied Jefferson. " Will 
you hear it through once more ? " 

" As many times as you wish," responded the 
smiling " doctor," with a merry twinkle in his eye. 
" One can't get too much of a good thing, you know." 

And settling himself comfortably in a big high- 
backed easy-chair beside the open window — for it 
was June in Philadelphia, the time for open win- 
dows — Franklin prepared to listen, Avhile in clear, 
even tones — not the voice of an orator, but rather 
of one who listens more than he talks — Jefferson 
read his " fair copy " of one of the world's greatest 
papers. 

You know what that paper was, for you know 
who wrote it — -the Declaration of Independence, 
written by Thomas Jefferson. 



102 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Franklin's delight over the document was un- 
bounded. He had already heard it before, and had 
suggested, as had John Adams, to whom the first 
draft was also read, a few slight changes ; but the 
completed and amended paper interested him 
deeply. Its terse and direct statements, its brief 
but vigorous sentences, its culminating catalogue 
of grievances, its merciless censure, and its deter- 
mination beyond the power of compromise, gave 
that practical and sympathetic philosopher and 
patriot satisfaction and content. 

"• That 's good, Thomas ; that 's right to the point ; 
that will make King George wince," were among 
his expressions of approval, as charge after charge, 
and assertion upon assertion, were read to him. " I 
wish I had done it myself." 

It is held by some to have been an excellent 
thing that jolly Benjamin Franklin did not write 
the Declaration, and that Thomas Jefferson did. 
For the cheerful old philosopher, it is claimed, who 
would have his fun no matter how serious the 
matter under discussion, would, as one biographer 
asserts, "-have put a joke even into the Declara- 
tion of Independence, if it had fallen to his lot to 
write that immortal document." Read the story 
of how the great signers, as they put down their 
names, joked to hide their deep and earnest emo- 
tions, and you will see what was " Franklin's way." 
But Thomas Jefferson, burning with a bitter 
hatred of tyrann}^, impressed with the greatness of 




THAT PAPER WAS THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. WRITTEN BY 
THOMAS JEFFERSON. 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 103 

the step taken, and so determined as to the justice 
of the course outlined by the Declaration that, as 
he said, " rather than submit to the right of legis- 
lating for us assumed by the British Parliament I 
would lend my hand to sink the whole island in 
the ocean," was peculiarly fitted to write such a 
paper as the Declaration of Independence, and 
could be counted upon to do it briefly, grandly, 
and to the point. 

His conversion to the cause of independence had 
been much like that of young John Adams as he 
listened to the fiery words of James Otis. For as 
young Thomas Jefferson, aged twenty-two, stood in 
the doorway of the House of Burgesses at Will- 
iamsburg and listened to Patrick Henry's ringing 
speech which ended, " C?esar had his Brutus, 
Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the 
Third — may profit by their example," he went 
over body and soul to the necessity of resistance 
to tyranny, and became as open a " rebel " as Henry 
or any j)atriot in the whole colony of Virginia. 

The son of a prosperous Virginia farmer, born in 
a farmhouse, as was George Washington, and like 
Washington left fatherless while yet a small boy, 
Thomas Jefferson was a spirited, wide-awake, 
earnest young fellow, a great lover of out-of-doors, 
and an advocate, through all his long life, of field 
and forest and a farmer's life. 

But he was soon drawn into public life by his 
success as a lawyer and his interest in the stirring 



104 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

affairs of the day. At twenty-six he became a 
member of the Virginia House of Burgesses and 
went deepl}^ into politics, in which, however, he 
was at once prudent, honest, and clean, living up 
to a vow, made even as a young man, never to be 
drawn into speculations nor " jobs " nor any of the 
questionable " tricks " that too often soil the name 
of politics and make them distasteful to honest and 
patriotic men. 

When discussion led to protest and protest to 
threats of resistance Jefferson at once espoused 
the cause of the people, and in 1774 insisted that 
the lead in tins cause should be taken by young 
men and not by " old fogies ; " while he openly 
declared in the House of Burgesses that Virginia 
" must boldly take an unequivocal stand in the 
line with Massachusetts." 

With the bolder spirits of Henry and Lee and 
Mason, as Jefferson recorded it in later years, " I 
went at all points ; " so it was not to be wondered 
at that when Washington was sent to Cambridge 
as commander-in-chief of the Continental army, 
Thomas Jefferson was sent to Congress in his place 
as delegate from Virginia. There he became so 
earnest an advocate of independence that, as one 
of his biographers declares, he would have lost his 
head " had it been less inconvenient " to get him 
across the sea to England. Though one of the 
youngest men in Congress, he was at once appointed 
on the committee to prepare a Declaration of In- 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 105 

dependence and was by that committee selected to 
write that ever-famous document. 

With but very few changes that Declaration, on 
the second of July, 1776, went before Congress, 
just as Jeiferson wrote it, and though, in the 
debate upon it, he sat silent, not joining in because, 
as he said, he deemed it his duty to hear and not 
to talk, history tells us that he was far from com- 
fortable during the discussion in which he would 
not join and sat " writhing " under the criticism 
that its bold utterance called out, until good 
Benjamin Franklin, to calm him down, had to tell 
him funny stories that fitted the case. 

But John Adams came to his side with so strong 
and splendid a defence of the whole Declaration 
as Jefferson had written it that even the critics 
were silenced and the doubters convinced ; and at 
last, on the fourth of July, 1776, Jefferson had the 
satisfaction of seeing his cherished paper accepted, 
adopted, and signed, and he himself, though he 
knew it not, made famous for all time as the author 
of the Declaration of Independence. 

The magnitude of that one act overshadowed all 
the others of his long, active, and useful life, and 
yet, so thoroughly was the Declaration a part of 
himself, so honestly did he live up to his belief, 
expressed in the opening paragraph of his great 
Declaration, that " all men are created equal," that 
he has also been esteemed the Father of American 
Democracy. For generations his name has been 



106 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

used as a rallying cry by millions of men, while his 
spirit has been evoked as its patron saint by one of 
the great political parties of America whose mem- 
bers lovingly and loyally refer to their particular 
political faith as " the true Jeffersonian Democracy." 

Elected as governor of Virginia while yet the 
Revolutionary war was at its height, he worked 
unceasingly to bear up Virginia's part in the great 
struggle and meet the incessant demand that came 
to him for men and money, horses, arms, and food. 
But arms, money, wagons, and horses were at last 
exhausted, and he himself realized the harshness of 
unjust criticism when men took him to task for 
doing the very thing he was expected to do — send- 
ing men out of Virginia to help fight the battles of 
the country when Virginia hereelf felt the hand 
and heel of the British invader. The lot of a war 
governor is by no means a pleasant one, as Jefferson 
learned to his sorrow, when, doing his duty, he 
found himself blamed for what was really a neces- 
sity and a right. 

Once again he was sent as a delegate to Con- 
gress, in 1783, and while there advocated the meas- 
ures which, in time, developed into the founding, 
settlement, and development of the great Western 
section of .the United States, then known as the 
Northwest Territory. He reported, too, a plan of 
government for that mighty region which contained 
a grand provision and one which became the foun- 
dation-stone and glory of the great and prosperous 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 107 

West; this was that "after the year 1800_ of the 
Christian era there shall be neither slavery nor 
involuntary servitude in any of the said States." 
For though a Southern man and a slaveholder 
Thomas Jefferson was a hater of slavery, and in 
this act of freedom was the forerunner, you see, of 
Abraham Lincoln, America's great emancipator. 

In 1784 Jefferson was named by Congress minis-j 
ter to France in place of Benjamin Franklin, who, 
after long and remarkable service there, had begged 
leave to come home. Then it was that the Vir- 
ginian made his kind and courteous acknowledg- 
ment of the greatness of his famous colleague and 
associate of the " Declaration days." 

" You replace Dr. Franklin, I hear," said the 
prime minister of King Louis of France when Mr. 
Jefferson was introduced to him at the court. 

Jefferson bowed with his customary dignity and 
courtesy. " Sir," he said, " I succeed Dr. Frank- 
lin ; no one can replace him." And the fame of 
that appreciative, generous, and kindly recognition 
of greatness has outlived all the criticism and 
many of the important actions of Thomas Jefferson. 

For five years Jefferson remained abroad as the 
United States minister to France, and then came . 
home, loving his native land better than ever. 
" Go to Europe," he advised his friend James Mon- 
roe ; " it will make you adore your own country, 
its soil, its climate, its equality, liberty, laws, 
people, and manners." 



108 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

When, in December, 1789, he returned to his 
much-loved farm at Monticello — - the " little moun- 
tain " just outside the town of Charlottesville in 
Virginia — he received an invitation from George 
Washington, who had just been elected the first 
president of the United States, to enter his Cabinet 
as secretary of state — an honor which, while pre- 
ferring private life, Jefferson still accepted, be- 
cause Washington desired it. 

His four years as secretary of state were a 
troubled and stormy time, occupied mostly with his 
quarrel with his chief rival and political opponent, 
Alexander Hamilton, the secretary of the treas- 
ury. The people of the country sided with one or 
the other of these great chiefs, and from these fac- 
tions came the two great political parties of 
America, which, since Jefferson's day, under differ- 
ent names but with practically unchanging foun- 
dation principles, have made the political history 
of the Republic, as Republicans and Democrats. 
■ In 1793 he retired from the Cabinet and went to 
his beloved farm to rest and watch. But in three 
years' time he was called into service again as vice- 
president of the United States, although he declared 
of himself, " I have no ambition to govern men ; no 
passion which would delight me to ride a storm. 
My attachment is to my home." 

All of these desires, however, he was called upon 
to forego ; by the votes of the Republic he was 
selected " to govern men," " to ride a storm," and 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 109 

to leave his delightful home on a mountain. For, 
after four years' service as vice-president, he was 
elected to the still higher office, and became, in 
1800, the third president of the United Statesl 
Even upon his entrance to this high dignity he kept 
his simple Avays, for he rode to his inauguration 
some say in a hiied coach, because his own had not 
arrived from Monticello, otheis say on horseback, 
hitching his horse to the Capitol fence, and walking 
into the Senate chamber unannounced to take the 
oath of office as president. Whichever is true, the 
fact is that Jefferson liked to make a display of 
what he called " democratic simplicity," which is 
often more ostentatious by its emphasis of simplicity 
than the usual and customary ceremonies which 
add weight and dignity to a high office of trust or 
responsibility. 

But that was Jefferson's main desire — to be 
simply one of the people, not one above the people. 
He hated anything like " fuss and feathers." Court 
etiquette, which had prevailed in the White House 
since the ceremonious mannei's of Washington's 
stately days, was entirely done away with, while 
titles like "Honorable" and "Your Excellency" 
were most objectionable to him, and even plain 
" Mr." he regarded as superfluous, aristocratic, and 
unnecessary. Tlie president of the United States, 
he declared, was just a man — no different from the 
humblest citizen ; and he said, " If it be possible to 
be certainly conscious of anything, I am conscious 



110 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of feeling no difference between writing to the 
highest and lowest being on earth," 

This, you see, was but an instance of what Mr. 
Ford declares to have been Thomas Jefferson's con- 
trolling principle — " the ever-enduring privilege of 
personal freedom ; " it is but a practical carrying out 
of the assertion with which he opened the Declara- 
tion of Independence, that " All men are created 
equal ; " and yet even great truths may be trifled 
with or strained into too liberal meaning. So 
we cannot wonder that during his presidency even 
Thomas Jefferson had occasion to depart from his 
theories as to the president's office ; for when, 
once, in a famous political trial, one side wished to 
subpoena the president — that is, call him into court 
as a witness — President Jefferson indignantly re- 
fused, and declared that a court of law could not 
and should not order the president of the United 
States to take the stand as a common witness. He 
was right ; but his decision hardly agreed with his 
broad democratic stand. 

As president of the United States Thomas Jef- 
ferson sent Commodore Decatur and his sailors 
across the water to bring the Dey of Algiers to 
terms and say to him, with voice and guns, " No 
tribute from America to you and your pirates." 
He was the earliest advocate of American expan- 
sion ; for he arranged the purchase of Louisiana 
from Napoleon Bonaparte, the master of France, 
and thus added to the United States the whole 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. Ill 

western country beyond the Mississippi ; and he 
almost ruined the commerce of the country by the 
Embargo Act of 1807, by which he sought to bring 
France and England to terms, and which, he always 
held, if loyally supported and honestly kept would 
have prevented our second war with England, in 
1812. 

Jefferson served two terms as president, retiring \ 
finally in 1808 and seeking the grateful seclusion 
of private life on his farm at Monticello, after forty 
years of service devoted to the good of his country. 
But he was too prominent a man to be allowed .this 
" grateful seclusion." He could not be left alone, 
and he was kept so busy being hospitable at liis 
great house on the hill that it very nearly ruined 
him. He got into money troubles, and when he 
was an old and tired man found himself in such 
desperate straits for money that he nearly lost 
Monticello and had to sell his fine library to meet 
his actual needs. 

But when the people of the Republic learned in 
what great trouble he was they would not let the 
author of the Declaration of Independence suffer 
from loss or necessity. Public subscriptions were 
started throughout the country, and money enough 
was raised to save his home and secure his com- 
fort. Jefferson, who would not listen to the idea 
of aid from the treasury of his State, was willing 
to accept help from the American people for whom 
he had lived and labored, "for," said he, " no cent,/ 



112 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of this is wrung from the tax-payers ; it is the pure 
and unsolicited offering of love." 

But in the midst of this popular effort for his 
relief the end came, and on the Fourth of July, 
1826, on the fiftieth anniversary of the day made 
famous by his greatest work, tlie Declaration of 
Independence, Thomas Jefferson died in the great 
bedroom of Monticello, and on that same day, as I 
have told you, died his old-time friend and fellow- 
worker, his political opponent of later years, and 
his predecessor as president of the United States, 
John Adams, of Massachusetts. 

Midway down the forest-fringed mountain-road 
that leads from the sightly mansion of Monticello to 
the beautiful valley below, within an iron-fenced 
enclosure, the traveller may see to-day a plain, sim- 
ple ten-foot obelisk of brown stone, already marked 
by age and marred by relic-liunters. And on the 
pedestal he may read this inscription, prepared by 
Jefferson himself, " Here lies buried Thomas Jef- 
ferson : author of the Declaration of Independence, 
of the Statutes of Virginia for Religious Freedom, 
and Father of the University of Virginia." Those 
were the acts of his life that Thomas Jefferson 
counted most notable. 

Three miles away in a straight line from the 
hill of Monticello, and quite on the other side of 
the picturesque old town of Charlottesville, rise 
the clustering buildings of the University of 
Virginia, the child of Jefferson's latest years, 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 113 

endowed by his exertions and ever faithful to his 
memory. 

In view of what has made history for the United 
States in the closing years of the nineteenth cen-* 
tiiry, it is interesting to read what was Jefferson's 
dream of America's march of destiny in territorial 
expansion. It was at the time of Napoleon's 
greatness, and soon after the purchase of the vast 
western country that came to us with Louisiana. 
For the sake of crippling Spain, Napoleon, he said, 
could be induced to give Florida to the United 
States. 

" But that is no price," he continued, " because 
that is ours in the very iirst moment of war. . . . 
But, although with difficulty, he will consent to our 
receiving Cuba into our Union. . . . That would 
be a price, and I would immediately erect a column 
on the southernmost limit of Cuba, and inscribe on 
it " Ne plus ultra,^'' as to all in that direction. Then 
we should only have to include the north (Canada) 
in our confederacy, and we should have such an 
empire for Liberty as she has never surveyed since 
the creation ; and I am persuaded that no Constitu- 
tion was ever before so well calculated as ours for 
extensive empire and self-government." 

So, you see, Cuba is not a new story with Ameri- 
cans, nor is the widening of our borders a recent 
aspiration ; while as for its being a departure from the 
Declaration and the Constitution — well ! you see 
what the author of the Declaration himself asserted. 



114 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

A strong man every way, in mind as well as in 
body, Thomas Jefferson stands in the history of the 
Republic as a great* leader, a great American, and a 
great man. With an undying love for the common 
people and an unwavering faith in them he held to 
their will as the sole law of the land, and became, 
for the American Republic, the typical democrat — 
a believer in the theory of government by the 
people. Politically he was a mighty factor in 
American history ; he trained the two succeeding 
presidents for their high office, and to-day, seventy- 
five yeare after his death, he is still a power in the 
land, and his is a name to conjure by. 

Personally Jefferson was a charming character. 
He was lovable, benevolent, intelligent, cheery of 
manner, and pleasant in disposition. He was never 
angry, fretful, or discontented ; he was happiest 
when helping othere, and followed out, as one of 
his chief rules of conduct, his precept : " Never to 
trouble another for what he could do himself." 

The life of no man is perfect. Even the most 
exalted have their failings, the most brilliant their 
shortcomings. Thomas Jefferson was no exception 
to the general rule, but though many differed from 
him, living, and criticised him, dead, millions of 
Americans have followed his teachings implicitly 
through more than a hundred yeai"s of tlie Republic's 
progress, while every American, of whatever politi- 
cal faith, reverences and cherishes the memory of 
the author of the Declaration of Independence. 



IX. 



THE STORY OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON, 
OF NEW YORK, 

CALLED "THE FRAMER OF THE CONSTITUTION." 



Born on the Island of Nevis, West Indies, January 11, 1757. 
Died at New York City, July 11, 1804. 



" So long as the people of the United States form one nation, 
the name of Alexander Hamilton will be held in high and lasting 
honor, and, even in the wreck of governments, that grand 
intellect would still command the homage of men." — Henry 
Cabot Lodge. 

One after anotlier the orators had spoken and 
the people had cheered. And yet none of the 
speakere had touched the root of the matter. The 
object of this out-door meeting had been to urge 
the province of New York to put itself in line with 
the other American colonies in advocating and 
demanding a Congress of the colonies for consul- 
tation and action. It was an important question, 
and such the New York patriots who had brought 
about this open-air meeting in the Fields felt it to 
be. But something was lacking in the arguments 
or earnestness of the speakers. They had talked 
and talked, but had said nothing and accomplished 

115 



116 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

notliinsr. The hearts of the leaders who had 
arranged for this big public meeting in the Fields 
were heavy. " Have we no one who can stir the 
people to action ? " they queried. " Can no one here 
put the matter straight ? " 

Just then there was a stir in the crowd, and 
through the throng gathered about the speakers' 
platform a young man elbowed his way. 

He was a little fellow and almost boyish-look- 
ing, not more than fifteen or sixteen, you would 
say. But he managed to force his way through 
the press and the next moment had leaped to the 
platform. 

" May I speak a few words, sir ? " he asked the 
chairman. 

The chairman and those with him looked on 
the boy in astonishment, while the crowd that 
thronged about the speaker's stand could only 
stare and wonder at this rather fresh-looking lad 
who wished to make a speech. 

" Hooray for the little West Injun ! " came a 
voice from the crowd; and as anything was welcome 
that would create a diversion or arouse the common 
enthusiasm even this boy might be worth hearing. 

The chairman nodded. 

""What name ?" he inquired. 

" Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton, sir," the young 
orator replied. " I won't keep them long." 

Then, looking down into the eyes of the multi- 
tude about him, the lad for an instant hesitated as 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 117 

if just a bit stage-struck. It was only for an instant, 
however. Then the words began to come, and at 
once this youthful orator had plunged into a flood 
of speech. 

A mere boy he seemed to his audience, small in 
stature and slight in figure, with brilliant eyes 
deep set in a swarthy face ; but as he talked men 
forgot his age, his appearance, his boyishness. 
They could only listen in wonder, query, and con- 
viction to the arguments, the declaration, and the 
appeals that came from this boy's lips. 

This firet glimpse that we get of this remarkable 
man would suggest that he was also a remarkable 
boy. He was. An orator and patriot at seven- 
teen, a hero at twenty, a statesman at twenty-three, 
Alexander Hamilton, "the young West Indian," 
as people used to call him, was, indeed, one of the 
world's remarkable boys. Let me give you the 
record of what was done in the world by this boy 
and man who, dying at forty-seven, left his impress 
upon the world as one of the greatest of historic 
Americans. At ten years old he was forced to 
take care of himself; at twelve he was confiden- 
tial clerk for a merchant of Santa Cruz, near to the 
island of Nevis, where he was born ; at thirteen he 
was business manager of the establishment ; at 
fourteen he wrote a description of a storm in the 
West Indies that set people to talking ; at fifteen 
he went to New York to seek his fortune ; at six- 
teen he was an advanced student in Columbia 



118 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

College, taking at the same time a medical course 
in connection with his other studies ; at seventeen 
he was a leader in the debates of his college, and, 
as you have seen, a popular orator in the public 
meeting in the Fields ; at eighteen he was a political 
essayist ; at nineteen a captain of artillery in the 
Continental army ; at twenty a lieutenant-colonel 
and Washington's aide-de-camp ; and at twenty- 
three a battalion commander. At twenty-four he 
was a member of Congress ; at thirty, framer and 
signer of the Constitution of the United States ; 
at thirty-two the first secretary of the treasuiy ; and 
at thirty-five one of New York's foremost lawyere. 
At forty he was appointed major-general ; at forty- 
two he was commander-in-chief of the armies of 
the United States ; at forty-five America's leading 
living statesman of that day ; and at forty-seven — 
dead, cut off in his prime by the murderous bullet 
of his relentless rival and political advei-sary, the 
victim of an unsparing hate and of his own over- 
strained sense of duty. 

Nevis is one of the Leeward islands in the West 
India group and is the property of England. It 
Avas so when, on the eleventh day of January, 1757, 
Alexander Hamilton was born ; and from that Eng- 
lish colony the boy Hamilton, when he was to 
strike out for himself in the world, came to another 
English colony — New York. Friends and oppor- 
tunities secured for him education and advance- 
ment, but he became even early in life, as that 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 119 

sudden speech in the Fields shows, a warm and 
enthusiastic friend of American independence. 

Indeed, while yet in college he was busy with 
pen and sword ; for with the firet he wrote unan- 
swerable arguments for liberty, and with the other 
he drilled the artillery company of which he 
speedily became captain. 

When war actually broke out the little captain 
was in the thick of the fight. He led an artillery 
company at the battle of Long Island. He fought 
at Harlem plains and Chatterton hill, at New 
Brunswick and Trenton and Princeton. His dash 
and gallantry and the effective manner in which he 
handled his men and guns early attracted the at- 
tention of Washington, who had a ready eye for 
warlike and promising young men ; and Hamilton, 
in 1777, became Washington's private secretary 
and aide-de-camp, with the rank of lieutenant- 
colonel. He fought through the Revolution, led 
the last charge at Yorktown where Cornwallis sur- 
rendered, and came out of it all, at twenty-five. 
Colonel Hamilton, one of the best and brightest 
young officei's in the American army. 

Alexander Hamilton the soldier was just the 
sort of a character of whom boys and girls who love 
action and daring like to make a hero. With a 
superb dash and an unfaltering courage, and yet with 
a " rapid-firing " brain and a tender, sympathetic 
heart, he was the leader of his soldiere and their 
idol as well. To-day the beautiful battle monu- 



120 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ment at Trenton stands on the precise spot upon 
which young Capt. Alexander Hamilton, of the 
New York artillery, unlimbered his battery that 
cold Christmas morning and raked the startled 
Hessians until they went scurrying away to defeat 
and surrender. On the green slopes of Yorktown 
you may see to-day the remains of the redoubt up 
which, in response to his earnest desire to lead 
the assault, charged Col. Alexander Hamilton, at 
the head of his battalion of light infantry, " with 
an intrepidity, a heroism, and a dash," so says Mr. 
"Wintlirop, " unsurpassed in the whole history of the 
war." Up the redoubt he rushed, filled with the 
joy of leadership and the fur}- of fight. Obstacles 
could not stop Hamilton and his men. They leaped 
over the palisades, they cleared the abatis, they 
scaled the parapets, capturing the redoubts and 
driving back Cornwallis's veterans into such dire 
defeat that, soon after, the white flag was flying 
from the British ramparts, the drummer-boy beat a 
parley, and, at last, with their l)and8 playing " The 
World turned Upside Down, " Cornwallis and his 
men gave up the contest, laid down their arms in 
surrender, and the victory of Yorktown closed the 
Revolutionary war. 

As tactful as he was sympathetic was this same 
Colonel Hamilton — for only he could secure from 
the pompous and puffed-up Gates, after Saratoga, 
the re enforcements that Washington demanded and 
Gates held back ; and only he could soothe Mrs. 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 121 

Arnold, when the shock of her husband's treason 
and flight drove her into temporary insanity, or 
soften the rigors of a just but terrible fate for Andrd 
_ Young Hamilton's impetuosity and offended dig- 
nity, however, sometimes led him into error and 
mistakes. But he who crossed swords with Wash- 
mgton never came off victor. 

"Request Colonel Hamilton to come to me at 
once," Washington commanded his orderly one 
February day in 1781, as he paced his room at head- 
quarters in New Windsor, engrossed with duties 
that needed instant attention. 

The orderly hurried with the message, but 
Colonel Hamilton was himself busy and did not 
at once respond to the summons of his chief, who 
always demanded one requisite from all who served 
him — the soldier's duty of instant obedience. 

The general was annoyed; the secretary de- 
layed ; the general grew indignant ; he opened the 
door of his room, seeking the tardy secretary, and 
at the head of the stairs they came face to face — 
the slight, boyish-looking lieutenant-colonel and'the 
massive commanding-general, -great men both, 
and, therefore, jealous of their own actions; great 
men both, though one had made, the other had yet 
to make, his name. 

"Colonel Hamilton," said Washington, "this 
will not do, sir. I needed you and you de- 
layed. To keep one waiting, sir, is a mark of 
disrespect." 



122 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The dark young face flushed a deeper brown. 
The hand came up in salute. 

" I am not conscious of it, sir," said the young 
officer; "but since you have thought it we part ! " 
and thus they severed the close connections of years. 
Both were at fault, perhaps, but Hamilton knew, 
even though his offended dignity had spoken, that 
by military laws the general had been right, the 
secretary wrong. 

The general, however, regretted the young secre- 
tary's hasty action and did not lay it up against him. 
Instead, although Hamilton refused to accept his 
apology, and even, in a fit of boyish dignity, repelled 
his advances, Washington still interested himself in 
the young officer, and would not break friendship. 
For Washington, who was a matchless student of 
men, knew the abilities and worth of Alexander 
Hamilton, and would not be upset by a trifle. Be- 
sides, he was great enough to forgive ; great enough 
to be helpful even where help was not solicited. 
He saw that his ex-aide was given a colonelcy ; 
that he was accorded the post of honor at York- 
town ; and, years after, when the nation was in 
running order, with Washington at the helm, Ham- 
ilton was called by him to the important post of 
secretary of the treasury. 

How great a part Alexander Hamilton played in 
putting the new nation into running order the 
story of the making of the Constitution of the 
United States tells. Guizot, the French historian, 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 123 

declares that "there is not in the Constitution of 
the United States an element of order, of force, of 
duration which Alexander Hamilton did not power- 
fully contribute to introduce into it and to cause 
to predominate." 

Gladstone, the great Englishman, also declared 
that the Constitution of the United States was 
" the most wonderful work ever struck off at a 
given time by the brain and purpose of man," and 
the idea and necessity for such a work was thought 
out and advocated by Alexander Hamilton. Even 
before the Revolution had closed in triumph at 
Yorktown this wise and level-headed young states- 
man recognized the need of something reliable and 
binding if the united colonies were really to become 
united States — a real nation. When he was but 
twenty-four he wrote a remarkable letter to a friend 
in the Continental Congress, and in that letter he 
outlined many of the provisions that, later, found 
place in the Constitution. 

But it was as a financier that Hamilton made his 
greatest record. At thirty-two, Washington, who 
had studied his character and appreciated his abili- 
ties, called him into his Cabinet as secretary of the 
treasury, and in that position Hamilton not only 
built up and strengthened the national credit, he 
actually saved the Republic from bankruptcy and 
failure. 

He fairly created something out of nothing — 
resources out of debts and deficit, credit out of no 



124 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

credit. As Senator Lodge says of him : " There 
was no public credit. Hamilton created it. There 
was no circulating medium, no financial machinery. 
He supplied them. There was no government, no 
system with a life in it, only a paper Constitution. 
Hamilton gave vitality to the lifeless instrument. 
He drew out the resources of the country, he exer- 
cised the powers of the Constitution, he gave 
courage to the people, he laid the foundation of 
national government, and this was the meaning and 
result of his financial policy." 

Daniel Webster, years after, in his eloquent way, 
put the same appreciation into one famous sentence 
in his eulogy on Hamilton, pronounced in 1831, 
twenty-seven years after the death of this first and 
greatest secretary of the treasury : " He smote 
the rock of the national resources and abundant 
streams of revenue gushed forth. He touched the 
dead corpse of public credit, and it sprang upon its 
feet." 

How highly Washington regarded the abilities 
and worth of his former aide-de-camp and some- 
what touchy military secretary may be seen from the 
fact that he retained him in office as his secretary 
of the treasury for six years, in spite of Hamilton's 
wish to retire, that he consulted Hamilton on every 
important question even after his retirement, and 
that he would only accept the position of com- 
mander-in-chief of the army in the expected war 
with France, in 1798, on condition that Hamilton 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 125 

should be his first major-general and practical 
organizer and leader of the new army. Upon 
Washington's death Hamilton succeeded him as 
commander of the army ; but war with France was 
averted and no opportunity was afforded Hamilton 
to display, as actual leader of the American army, 
those matchless abilities which he had brought to 
its reorganization. So he went back to his pro- 
fession — and his death. 

In his profession he was accounted to be, in 1800, 
the best lawyer in New York. He seldom if ever 
lost a case, and his success in winning cases was 
so great that it was the popular belief that neither 
judge nor juryman could stand out against his 
pleading. It was considered certain success for 
plaintiff or defendant to be able to retain Alexander 
Hamilton. 

This success followed him also into political life 
and led to his own undoing. For a great man 
makes strong enemies, just as he creates faithful! 
followers, and Alexander Hamilton was the object 
alike of the deepest admiration and the most bitter 
hatred. 

The sea of New York politics has cast up many 
a questionable, selfish, and designing politician, but 
it never was dominated by a more unscrupulous, ' 
fascinating, utterly disreputable, or dangerous polit- 
ical worker than Aaron Burr — Hamilton's relent- 
less rival. 

Aaron Burr was nearly as precocious in his boy- 



126 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

hood as Alexander Hamilton. A daring and dash- 
ing soldier, he too became also, for a time, aide-de- 
camp to Washington ; but the selfish soldier and 
the great general did not agree. Washington's 
searching eye saw through the veneer and glitter 
of the young aide-de-camp, and he had neither use 
nor desire for his services or companionship. But 
step by step Aaron Burr rose until he became vice- 
president of the United States and just missed the 
presidency itself. 

Both Burr and Hamilton mingled in the troubled 
waters of New York politics. Hamilton was a 
Federalist, a Nation-lover ; Burr was a Democrat — 
a State-lover. Both were earnest fighters and 
ardent haters, and, when the nineteenth century 
came in, Federalist and Democrat were fiercer and 
more unsparing antagonists than Republican and 
Democrat to-day. Burr was what we call a ward 
politician — up to any dodge or trick to gain his 
end ; Hamilton could do nothing small, mean, or 
underhanded in politics ; so, in the contest for the 
possession of New York, 6urr won. Thereupon the 
quarrel grew still more bitter ; but when, failing to 
capture the presidency. Burr sought to be governor 
of New York, Hamilton blocked his intrigue and 
wire-pulling, and the election went against Burr. 

Then the disappointed and defeated office-seeker 
determined to be revenged upon the " little lion," 
as Hamilton's friends called him, and to drive him 
out of his path or crush him in it. Bold, shrewd, 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 127 

vindictive, and unscrupulous, Burr knew that 
Hamilton saw through his designs, fathomed his 
ambitions, upset his schemes, and thwarted his 
designs. He set to work deliberately to force a 
quarrel upon Hamilton, challenge him to a duel, and 
kill him. 

The excuse was soon forthcoming. Something 
that Hamilton had said, criticising one of Burr's 
actions, was at once distorted and taken as cause 
for a quarrel ; the challenge was sent and accepted. 

There is something very sad about this part of 
Hamilton's tragic story. Hamilton detested duel- 
ling and had openly denounced it as useless, unwise, 
unjust, and barbarous. To refuse to fight a duel 
could not have made him a coward ; for the soldier 
who fought at Trenton and scaled the ramparts at 
Yorktown did not need to i3rove his courage. 

But when Burr's challenge reached him Hamil- 
ton accepted it against his will, fearing lest people 
Avould misjudge his motives, and, perhaps, interfere 
with his plans for the good of the Republic, which 
were ever foremost in his mind. He wrote down a 
statement of the case before meeting Burr, in which, 
while advancing a strong dislike to the duel as a 
needless risk of life, and the welfare of his family, 
he said, " But the ability to be in future useful, 
whether in resisting mischief or effecting good, in 
those crises of our public affairs which seem likely 
to happen, would probably be inseparable from a 
conformity with public prejudice in tliis particular." 



128 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

And then he crossed the river, and on a beautiful 
spot in what was long known as the Elysian Fields 
in Weehawken, opposite New York, he met Aaron 
Burr on the morning of the eleventh of July, 1804, 
and there was murdered. For duelling is murder ; 
and Burr was determined to kill his uncomfortable 
and objectionable rival, while Hamilton, simply 
going through the forms of duelling, fired his pistol 
in the air. 

But even great mistakes have their uses. The 
duel at Weehawken killed Hamilton ph3-sically, 
but it killed Burr morally and politically; for it 
proved the greatest error of his selfish, mistaken, 
and unbalanced life. It rounded out Hamilton's 
fame, and drove Burr into treason and ignominy. 

More than this, it was the death-blow to duelling. 
When Telemachus, the monk, protesting against 
gladitorial combats as unchristian, went down into 
the arena and fell a victim beneath the swords of 
the gladiators, he died a martyr — but the last fight 
in the Coliseum had been fought. When Alex- 
ander Hamilton, protesting against duelling as un- 
necessary, barbarous, and unchristian, boldly faced 
the deadly pistol of Aaron Burr that the people 
might not misjudge one whose chief desire was the 
welfare of the Republic, he fell ; but with him fell 
the hated code of duelling, for the murder of 
Hamilton made a duel forever odious. 

A great man was wVlexander Hamilton. To be 
loved and honored l)y Washington, to be hated 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 129 

and assassinated by Aaron Bnrr, would be in them- 
selves proof of excellence. But Alexander Hamil- 
ton was born to be great. The ten-year old boy in 
the cramped little island of Nevis, who had already 
ambitions and aspirations, and told his playmates 
that, when he grew up, he meant to be somebody in 
the world, made himself really " somebody." 

John Marehall, greatest of our chief-justices, 
ranked Alexander Hamilton next to George Wash- 
ington. Certainly no man has made a deeper mark 
on American history or should stand higher in the 
esteem of the Republic. He was a great orator, a 
great lawyer, the ablest politician and statesman of 
his day, a daring soldier, a matchless organizer. 
He gave the Constitution life ; he made the national 
treasury a power, and laid the foundation of the 
nation's wealth ; he widened and dignified the 
foreign policy of the Republic ; he shaped the work 
and planned the methods of the new nation. He 
first preached the leadership of the United States 
on the American continent, and thought only of the 
glory, the grandeur, and the success of the Republic. 

Alexander Hamilton's name stands for success, 
and his remarkable story, short though it was and 
brought to so tragic a close, is still one that should 
inspire young Americans by its brilliant passages 
and show them that worthy ambition, rightly pur- 
sued, brings to men merited success and enduring 
fame. 



X. 



THE STORY OF ROBERT MORRIS, OF 
PHILADELPHIA, 

CALLED THE " FINANCIER OF THE EEVOLUTION." 



Born at Liverpool, England, January 20, 1734. 
Died at Philadelphia, May 8, 1806. 

" "When future ages celebrate the names of Washington and 
Franklin, they will add that of Morris." — David Ramsay. 

The general leaned back in his chair and looked 
at his visitors inquiringly. 

" It must be accomplished, gentlemen," he said. 
" What can you do for me ? " 

" With money, everything ; without it, nothing," 
replied the head of the war committee of Con- 
gress ; and he turned an anxious look toward his 
associate, the Financier. 

" I understand you," the Financier replied, an- 
swering the looks of inquiry that came to him 
from both the general and the head of the war 
committee; "but the amount needed staggers 
me. I came here with a few guineas, thinking 
to lighten the immediate burden of the general, 
and now his Excellency confronts me with a 

130 



ROBERT MORRIS. 131 

scheme demanding thousands. Where are they to 
come from ? " 

"You have never failed me yet, Morris," the 
general responded. Then he added, with a smile, 
" and now you are Financier of the United States! 
You know what that means." 

" I do, indeed, your Excellency," the Plnancier 
replied. " I wish it meant all I think it should. 
The Congress is unable to enforce taxation; the 
people are unwilling to support the Congress. 
What we need is a strong government. We must 
be, really, the United States. I cannot think of 
oui-selves simply as an alliance of States which con^ 
tribute only of their good-will to a common and 
temporary treasury. We must strengthen our 
confederation, provide for our debts, and form some 
kind of a Federal Constitution. What we must 
have is a reliable public credit, and this can only 
be secured by a strong national union." 

The general nodded in approval. The head of 
the war committee looked dubious. 

" Can we go as far as that? " he queried. "Are 
the States prepared to sacrifice their sovereign- 
ties ? " ^ 

" They must merge them, sir," replied the gen- 
eral. "This contest demands sacrifices. What 
one man does, many can do. In accepting the 
office of Financier of the United States Mr.'^Mor- 
ris, I know, has given himself to the cause we all 
hold so dear. He has undertaken a task he can 



132 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ill afford to assume, with all its perplexities and 
difficulties, Init I know he does it willingly, even 
if it be a sacrifice." 

The Financier bowed his acknowledgments. 

" You are right, general," he responded. " In 
accepting the office I do sacrifice much of my inter- 
est, my ease, my domestic comfort, and my internal 
tranquillity. But have you not done the same, 
general ? And if I know my own heart," he con- 
tinued feelingly, "I make these sacrifices with a 
disinterested view to the service of my country. 
I am ready to go farther, and the United States 
may command everything I have, except my 
integrity." 

" Spoken like a patriot, sir," replied the head of 
the war committee. " But what about this plan 
of the general's ? This Southern expedition in pur- 
suit of Cornwallis means money for supplies, sub- 
sistence, and transportation." 

"It does assuredly," the general said. "What 
do you say, Mr. Morris ? Will you see that these 
are made possible ? " 

" Is this measure inevitable, your Excellency ? " 
queried the Financier thoughtfully. 

"It is inevitable, sir," the general replied deci- 
sively. " On it depends the cooperation of our 
allies from France ; on it depends the success of 
our imperilled cause. Gentlemen," he continued 
emphatically, raising himself in his chair, " I am 
resolved upon it. I must pursue it at all hazards." 



ROBERT MORRIS. 133 

" Then, sir," said the Financier, quite as emphat- 
ically, " you shall have the money. Though Con- 
gress has no credit, nor any possible means of 
furnishing the large amount you will need, I will 
see that you have it. You shall have it, sir, even 
though to raise it I am compelled to rely on credit 
— my credit, solely, if need be. Thank God that 
is still secure ! Go forward with your arrange- 
ments, general. If you are prepared to risk repu- 
tation I am prepared to risk credit. It is the duty 
of every citizen to act his part in whatever station 
his country may call him to in hours of difficulty, 
danger, and distress. And such an hour we are 
facing now." 

" And we can face it bravel}', with your help, 
Morris," replied the general solemnly, but with 
confidence. " You will introduce order into our 
finances. By restoring public credit, even more 
than by gaining battles, we shall finally reach the 
day of absolute triumph. I know this, and I felt a 
most sensible pleasure, my friend, when I heard of 
your acceptance of the appointment of Financier of 
the United States ; for I know you can regulate the 
finances of this country. Do you remember how 
you helped me after the affair at Trenton, and 
made my pursuit of Cornwallis at Princeton pos- 
sible ? I shall never forget it." 

" It was a hard task, general, but somehow I did 
manage to get the money you needed," the Finan- 
cier replied with a smile, recollecting his labors in 



134 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

that time of stress. " Why, sir, on New Year's 
morning I actually went from house to house 
in Philadelphia, begging, borrowing, demanding 
money for the necessities of our victorious army ! 
And I raised what you demanded." 

" You did, indeed, Morris," said the appreciative 
general ; " without your help I could have done 
but little. I remember now with what joy I 
received, that very forenoon of New Year's day, 
the fifty thousand dollars you sent me. I knew 
that to get it you pledged your credit and your 
word of honor, and I recall now the gratification 
with which I read your message. ' Here is your 
money, general,' you wrote. ' Whatever I can do 
shall, be done for the good of the service. If 
further occasional supplies of money are neces- 
sary you can depend upon my exertions, either in 
a public or private capacity.' I have depended 
upon them, Morris, and never in vain. I do depend 
upon them now. With your aid we will bring 
affairs to a triumphant termination. My couree is 
resolved on." 

" And so is mine," said the Financier ; and, leav- 
ing the camp at Weathers field that very day, Robert 
Morris returned to Philadelphia and upon his own 
individual responsibility, pledging his credit, which 
had never been questioned or impaired, he secured 
the funds with which to equip and move Washing- 
ton's veteran army for the hurried and masterly 
march from the Hudson to the York — a triumph 



ROBERT MORRIS. 135 

of strategy, by which, misleading and avoiding the 
British commander in New York, Washington joined 
forces with the French allies under Rochambeau 
and speedily cooped up and captured at Yorktown, 
in Virginia, the trained and veteran troops of Lord 
Cornwallis. 

But even this final victory was not won with- 
out another necessary piece of financie.'ing and 
sacrifice on the part of Robert Morris, the Phila- 
delphia banker, the Financier of the American 
Revolution. 

It came about upon the thirtieth day of August, 
in the year 1781, when with much display of brill- 
iant uniforms and all the details of a military 
entrance into a friendly town there rode into Phil- 
adelphia the French and American commanders, 
Rochambeau and Washington, each with his suite 
and staff. All Philadelphia turned out to welcome 
the distinguished visitors who took the town on 
their way to Virginia. There were countless cour- 
tesies and every sign of joy and welcome that a 
grateful city could give, and, among the welcoming 
citizens, rode the big, frank, dignified, and in every 
way charming gentleman who served his country 
as Financier of the new United States — Robert 
Morris, of Philadelphia. 

At the City tavern Washington and Rocham- 
beau held an informal reception, and then the lead- 
ing officers of both staffs adjourned to Robert Mor- 
ris's great house to dinner. 



136 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But after dinner, as Morris sat with his chief 
guests, Washington and Rochambeau, discussing 
the situation, Washington frankly confessed that 
the success of the expedition against Cornwallis 
was again absolutely threatened Avith failure be- 
cause of the lack of funds. 

" Thanks to you, my friend," he said to Morris, 
" the money pledged for the expedition provides 
its supplies, but the soldiers are hard to handle. 
Their pay is far in arrears ; their discontent is fast 
increasing ; Congress can afford them no present 
relief ; the Northern regiments grumble at march- 
ing so far from their homes ; the temper of the 
men is tried to the uttermost ; and there are even 
threats of withdrawal and revolt. Of course, with 
them I am firm ; but I do not conceal from you that 
I am perplexed. To fail in my plans on the very 
eve of success would be disastrous to our cause. 
We must not fail." 

The Financier stroked his ample chin for a while 
in thought. 

" The treasury ? That is you, my friend, is it 
not ? " queried the Frenchman. 

" It seems to be, count," replied Morris, with a 
rueful smile. " Even his Excellency would seem 
to believe it so. But see, gentlemen ; my public 
funds are exhausted ; the military chest is empt}' ; 
and I, to this date, have issued of my private notes, 
for the public use, nearly six hundred thousand 
dollars. Only by strenuous efforts have I been 



ROBERT MORRIS. 137 

able to honor these notes ; but thus far, thank 
God, I have done it." 

" And you can do it again, Morris, for the cause," 
the general exclaimed. 

" But how, your Excellency, how ? " queried 
the puzzled Financier. " As for myself, I have no 
system of finance except that which results from 
the plain and self-evident dictates of moral honesty. 
I cannot see — Ah, stay ! Your Excellency," 
he said, turning suddenly toward Rochambeau, 
"your military chest is generously supplied. Lend 
me twenty thousand dollars to help the general 
satisfy his clamorous troops ! " 

The Frenchman was startled at this sudden and 
unexpected request. He raised his eyebrows and 
shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. 

" My faith," he cried, " it is what you Ameri- 
cans call rushing — this ! It is — audacious, eh? 
To ask our swords and after that our gold ! What 
now is that twenty thousand you ask for worth in 
your American paper money ? " 

" In that, oh — a hundred dollars for one, at the 
least," replied Mr. Morris. " While Congress can- 
not back it up it is certainly vastly depreciated." 

" And you would ask us to take for our good 
gold from our military chest paper assignats — what 
you call bills — which your Congress cannot guar- 
antee ? " Rochambeau demanded. " I fear it is, 
sir, as you Americans might say, too much for our 
good-nature, is it not ? " 



138 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" But I do not ask Congress to guarantee them, 
count," declared Morris. "That security is as 
poor as our paper currency to-day. But the com- 
mercial house of Willing & Morris have never 
failed to keep their promise. The name of Robert 
Morris has never been dishonored in the market. 
Lend me the money, your Excellency, and I will 
stake my private credit to make my promises good. 
I offer you my notes, not those of Congress." 

The Frenchman bowed in acceptance. 

" The security is beyond question, sir," he said. 
" On your word we can squeeze the money from 
our store, though it may cripple us. For even our 
military chest has what you call a bottom." 

" But it can speedily be filled, count," the 
Financier assured him. "See, here have come 
advices that the admiral of your fleet, the Count 
De Grasse, has arrived with his ships in the Ches- 
apeake. He has money on board, I know, and Dr. 
Franklin will speedily send us funds from France. 
He was to urge another loan there, I am informed. 
Let me have the money but for three months, and 
in three months it shall be repaid. I pledge you 
my word." 

" It is yours, my friend," Count Rochambeau 
replied, and at once the money was drawn out, and 
Washington, by a wise distribution of the loan 
among his needy soldiers, allayed their wrath, set- 
tled a portion of their claim for wages, and put 
them once more into a proper temper. 



ROBERT MORRIS. 139 

Thus, once again, did Morris, by his personal 
promise, save the cause. For in three days' time, 
on the third of September, 1781, with martial music 
and with great display, with the fleur-de-lis and the 
stars and stripes fluttering side by side above the 
allied troops, the French in their brilliant uniforms, 
the Continentals in their well-worn buff and blue, 
marched together into the city of Philadelphia, 
wliile all the town echoed with shouts of welcome 
and, everywhere, the streets were thronged with 
eager, watching, and delighted people. Then the 
allied armies marched south to Virginia, and on 
the " heights above York " Cornwallis, entrapped 
and dispirited, yielded his sword in surrender. 

It is not too much to say that to the timely and 
generous aid of Robert Morris the victories of 
Princeton and Yorktown were due, and that to him 
also in large measure was due the success of Ameri- 
can independence. 

This remarkable man — Robert Morris, of Phila- 
delphia — was an Englishman by birth, having been 
born in Liverpool two yeare after Washington, in 
1734. But, removing with his parents to America 
while yet a small boy, he was left an orphan when 
but fifteen, and at once started out in life " on liis 
own hook." His father's business had been in 
Oxford, on the " eastern shore " of Maryland. But 
young Morris secured a position with a prominent 
Philadelphia merchant, and filled it so satisfactorily 
that when but twenty years old he was, upon the 



140 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

death of the senior partner, taken into the firm, 
which then became WiUing & Morris. 

This concern, which grew to be one of the leading 
business houses in the United States, liad large in- 
terests in trade with England, but Willing & Mor- 
ris, enterprising and energetic though they were in 
trade, counted patriotism as sometliing higher, and 
cast in their lot with the colonies. 

They hoped, however, as did other patriots, to 
secure justice by peaceful measures, and when, in 
1776, Robert Morris was sent as a delegate from 
Pennsylvania to the Continental Congress he 
openly opposed independence and the Declaration. 

When, however, he saw that open resistance and 
revolution were the will of the majority he put 
aside his personal opinions, and entered so heartily 
into the cause of the colonies that Congress placed 
him at the head of the committees on finance and 
commerce, intrusted to him all questions of ways 
and means, and found him to be at once so devoted, 
so able, and so patriotic that, as John Adams, the 
stoutest advocate of independence, declared, " He 
has a masterly understanding, an oj^en temper, and 
an honest heart." 

As you have seen, Washington relied upon him 
when pressure was sharpest and prospects were 
most dark. When all others failed him Robert 
Morris could be depended upon ; when the credit 
of the Congress ran out, and its promises to pay 
were scarcely worth the paper upon wliich they 



ROBERT MORRIS. 141 

were printed, Robert Morris, first as commissioner 
and chairman, and later as Superintendent of Fi- 
nance, — or " Financier," as he was more frequently 
called, — raised the needed funds upon his own 
responsibility, even upon his own private credit, and 
actually saved the cause of independence. 

The patriots breathed easier when they knew 
that the control of money matters was committed 
into his keeping as Financier of the United States. 

" You are the man best capable for this great 
work of introducing order into our finances," 
Hamilton wrote him ; from across the sea in Paris 
Benjamin Franklin sent his expressions of pleasure 
at the appointment, and added, " From your intelli- 
gence, integrity, and abilities there is reason to 
hope every advantage that the public can possibly 
receive from such an office ; " while Washington's 
satisfaction at the appointment we know was great. 

Robert Morris had made many sacrifices even 
before he was named as Financier of the United 
States. He was prepared to make yet more. " The 
contest we are engaged in," he declared as he un- 
dertook the duties of his new office, " appeared to 
me just and necessary ; therefore I took an active 
part in it. As it became dangerous I thought it 
the more glorious, and was stimulated to the great- 
est exertions in my power when the affairs of 
America were at their worst." 

A man may work, or fight, or even die for a 
cause he has at heart; he may contribute from his 



142 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

wealth or his poverty to its svipport ; but for a 
business man, who holds his word sacred and to 
whom his credit is dearer even than life, to delib- 
erately give his notes or his personal pledge to 
raise the money needed, not knowing where the 
money to meet those pledges is to come from ex- 
cept from himself, is as patriotic an act as the elo- 
quence of Patrick Henry or the courage of Wayne 
or Sheridan or Wheeler. Robert Morris pledged 
his word in behalf of the cause of independence 
far beyond his own resources ; but that word was 
always kept, although at times the case seemed 
hopeless. At one stage of the Revolution his pri- 
vate notes, issued to meet the demands he had 
undertaken to fulfil, reached, as he told Rocham- 
beau, nearly six hundred thousand dollars, while 
one historian of the Revolution asserts that Robert 
Morris, by his fidelity, ability, and skilfulness dur- 
ing the Revolution, " saved the United States 
annually thirteen millions in hard money." 

He started the first bank ever incorporated in 
America for the purpose of serving the government 
through the deposits of Americans who had faith 
enough in him and his plan to become stockhold- 
ers and depositors ; and to-day, on stately Chest- 
nut street, in the city of Philadelphia, the splendid 
and imposing building of the Bank of North 
America stands upon the site of the original Bank 
of North America founded in 1781 by Robert 
Morris, financier and patriot. 



ROBERT MORRIS. 143 

When the Revolution ended in triumph, and the 
new nation started off for itself, the Bank of North 
America was made the financial agent of the United 
States. Of this bank Robert Morris was never an 
officer, only a stockholder, and he never used it for 
his own benefit except as any other depositor or 
stockholder. But out of the founding of that in- 
stitution, fostered by Robert Morris, grew the 
mighty banking interests and facilities of the 
United States. 

Washington, when elected president of the new 
Republic, thought at first of making Morris the 
secretary of the treasury, but he waived the ap- 
pointment in favor of Alexander Hamilton, in whose 
ability he had equal faith. Indeed, it is claimed 
that it was Robert Morris who discovered and 
brought forward Alexander Hamilton, first as the 
head of the United States Treasury, and again as 
the maker of the American Union and the Amer- 
ican Constitution ; indeed, Bancroft, the historian, 
declared that it was Robert Morris " who gave the 
first vehement impulse towards the consolidation 
of the American Union." 

And yet this financier of the American Revolu- 
tion, this patriot, statesman, merchant, and man of 
personal and business integrity, passed the last years 
of his life in prison, — a prisoner for debt, — ^and 
was only saved from dying there by the kindly 
offices of a friend who unearthed an old claim in 
which Morris had an interest, and by making it 



144 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

yield a small income for tlie old patriot's wife, 
enabled liim to die at home, free but poor, on the 
eighth of May, 1806. 

It must be confessed that the disasters of Robert 
Morris came because of bis own actions. But even 
of these we may say that he had so firm a belief in 
the future of the great Republic he had helped to 
found that he took " too much stock " in its im- 
mediate development. He went into speculations 
in land and building lots that proved too slow to 
meet his expectations, and saddled him so heavily 
with losses and obligations that all his property 
was swept away, and he failed for three millions of 
dollars — an enormous sum in those days of small 
things. 

" You are over sixty, Morris," said Washington 
to him one day, in warning. " Don't go into these 
speculations, they will ruin you." 

" I cannot help it, general," replied the old 
Financier. " I must go deep or not at all. I must 
be either a man or a mouse." 

When the crash came he gave up everything to 
meet the demand upon him ; but it could not save 
him from a debtor's prison. So to j)rison he went, 
an old and broken man ; " but," as he wrote to his 
friend Hamilton, "• I am sensible that I have lost 
the confidence of the world as to my pecuniary 
ability, but I believe not as to my honor or 
integrity.'.' 

Washington's friendship remained steadfast. 



ROBERT MORRIS. 145 

He visited his old friend in prison, looked after 
his wife, and assured her of " the affectionate 
regard of General and Mrs. Washington for Robert 
Morris." 

The best of men make mistakes, and it is not 
for ns to attempt to excuse the extravagances and 
speculations of this old and tried business man. 
These now, however, should be forgotten and, 
rather than censure or criticism, the affectionate 
remembrance of this great and prosperous Republic 
should be for the man who made its greatness and 
jjrosperity possible, and in its days of storm and 
stress stood behind it with his credit and his name. 
For Robert Morris was one of the greatest finan- 
ciers, one of the greatest patriots America has ever 
produced, entitled by his virtues, his sacrifices, and 
his abilities to stand in the front rank of noble and 
historic Americans. 



XI. 



THE STORY OF JOHN JAY, OF 
BEDFORD, 

FIKST CHIEF-JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES. 



Born in New York City, December 12, 1745. 
Died at Bedford, New York, May 17, 1829. 



"When the spotless ermine of the judicial rohe fell on John 
Jay it touched nothing less spotless than itself." — Daniel 
Webster. 

"Things will come right and these States will 
be great and flourishing," wrote the president of 
Congress in prophetic words to the general of the 
army. 

The date of the letter was the twenty-fii-st of 
April, 1779, when the condition of affairs in the 
struggling States of an uncertain Union would 
scarcely seem to give much cause for so flattering a 
prophecy. New York and Philadelphia were both 
in possession of the British ; the Carolinas had been 
swept by the invaders ; and Congress was powerless 
to raise money or to maintain itself in a permanent 
capital. 

But there are men able to look beyond the clark- 
UG 



JOHN JAY. 147 

ness of the present and catch the first gleam of the 
coming light. Such a man was the president of 
the Continental Congress in 1779 — John Jay, of 
New York. 

He had not wished to plunge headlong into the 
horrors of war or the uncertainties of indepen- 
dence. Up to the very last he had, like Robert 
Morris and other peace-loving and conservative 
patriots, sought to heal the breach rather than to 
widen it. John Jay was a lover of law and order, 
and he felt that the colonies should act accord- 
ing to constitutional rather than revolutionary 
methods. He was a firm believer in the right of 
the majority, and hated to see anything like un- 
reasonable haste in action. 

"There seems no reason," he said, "that our 
colony should be too precipitate in changing the 
present mode of government. I would first be 
well assured of the opinion of the inhabitants at 
large. Let them be rather followed than driven 
on an occasion of such moment." 

His course proved wise. For while impulsive 
patriots like Samuel Adams and James Otis were 
for instant action and revolution, other and calmer 
minds, like Jay and Morris, were for thinking 
before leaping. The English colonies he knew 
had always been possessed of a certain liberty of 
speech and action, and the struggle was to pre- 
serve this liberty and not to permit it to be taken 
from them by British aggression or tyranny. So 



148 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ill delaying immediate action he and those who 
tliought like him strengthened the spirit of liberty 
and a desire for union, and thus helped rather than 
hindered the cause of independence. 

When, however, that independence was decided 
ujwn as the only way to liberty John Jay became 
as strong and ardent a patriot and revolutionist as 
any. It was he who drafted the resolution adopted 
by the " Provincial Congress " of New York which 
declared " that the reasons assigned by the Conti- 
nental Congress for declaring the United Colonies 
free and independent States are cogent and con- 
clusive ; and that while we lament the cruel neces- 
sity whi-ch has rendered that measure unavoidable, 
we approve the same, and will, at the risk of our 
lives and fortunes, join with the other colonies in 
supporting it." 

John Jay had considerable in the way of life 
and fortune to risk. The son of a wealthy and 
retired New York merchant, he had graduated 
from Columbia College in 1764, at the age of 
twenty-one ; he had then studied law and been ad- 
mitted to the New York bar ; he had married one 
of the charming daughters of the wealthy William 
Livingston, the patriot of " Liberty Hall," and 
was, in fact, one of the " four hundred " of colonial 
New York. 

But, once committed to the cause of the colonies, 
he became an important man in its councils — 
though less than thirty years old. He was a 



JOHN JAY. 149 

member of the Committee on the Rights of the 
Colonies ; he was one of the committee to draft a 
memorial to the people of Great Britain. In this 
communication he declared : " We consider our- 
selves and do insist that we are and ought to be as 
free as our fellow-subjects in Britain, and that no 
power on earth has a right to take our property 
from us without our consent." 

Elected to the second Continental Congress,die 
felt that his duty lay rather in the " Provincial Con- 
gress " of New York, to which he had also been 
elected, and he remained a member of both ; but 
he was not present on the eventful Fourth of July, 
and his name is not found among the signers of 
the great Declaration. He strongly approved of 
that immortal paper, however, and expressed his 
opinion that " our declaring independence in the 
face of so powerful a fleet and army will impress 
foreign nations with an opinion of our strength 
and spirit ; and when they are informed how little 
our country is in the enemy's possession they will 
unite in declaring us invincible by the arms of 
Britain." 

In those days of Tories and treason the patriots 
of America who were seeking independence had 
reason to look well after their neighbors and 
former associates ; for even a friend and neighbor 
might be a spy, a Tory, a British sympathizer. Jay 
was at the head of the Secret Committee for the 
purpose of discovering and banishing such enemies 



150 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

within; and, though always just, he had need to be 
at times stern and unyielding, even though his 
best friends were among the suspected ones. 

In this secret service he had occasion to make 
use of a man who was cool, shrewd, and fearless 
and who, for the sake of patriotism, acted the hero 
by playing the spy. This patriot would appear to 
be an ardent "• king's man " : he would enlist, serve, 
and march, apparently as a good redcoat, but really 
for the sake of getting hold of important secrets 
which he would report to Jay. The British trusted 
him ; the "Americans hated him ; often he was 
arrested by the Americans ; once he was very 
nearly hanged as a British spy. Jay, who alone 
knew his secret, remained his friend and tinally 
gained from Congress money for the spy's services. 
Then he sought him out and offered him a cash 
recompense for his sacrifices. 

" Sir, I cannot take it," said the spy, " The 
country has need of every dollar to prosecute the 
war. I can work ; I can get my living. Never 
mind any money for me. What I do, I do freely 
for liberty." 

And when, 3'ears after, John Jay told that story 
to a great writer the incident deeply impressed the 
listener, and, as a result, Fenimore Cooper gave 
to the world his greatest story, " The Spy." 

John Jay could not remain long in the service 
of his native State. His country needed him. 
He was to have his share in tlie work of impres- 



JOHN JAY. 151 

sing foreign nations with the importance of the 
United States ; for after he had displayed his wis- 
dom, firmness, and ability aS a bold and energetic 
Revolutionary leader, a State-builder in his prepara- 
tion of the Constitution for the State of New 
York, and an able and efficient president of the 
Continental Congress, he was, in the fall of 1779, 
sent abroad as minister to Spain. 

He was given, as one of his biographers says, a 
most unattractive position — " that of the unrec- 
ognized envoy of a country little known and less 
liked, begging money at a haughty and penurious 
court ; " for the Spain of 1779 was not a whit 
different from the Spain of 1898. 

He was sent to Spain to make a commercial 
treaty, borrow five millions of dollars, and fight for 
the control or at least the navigation of the Missis- 
sippi. Not one of these was Spain willing to give. 
In fact, neither France nor Spain really wished to 
help the revolted American colonies. Their wish 
was to play with them, to help them just enough to 
keep the war going, and thus, by crippling and 
weakening England, to wring from it Canada — or 
at least Nova Scotia — for France and Gibraltar for 
Spain. So John Jay and John Adams and Ben- 
jamin Franklin, though sent abroad for the good 
and strengthening of the Republic, were to be used 
by France and Spain even as the cat in the fable 
was used by the monkey — to pull the chestnuts 
from the fire. 



152 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But the trained and insincere diplomats of France 
and Spain were, after all, outwitted by the honest, 
open patriots of America. Both Adams in France 
and Jay in Spain, to say the least, were, as they 
expressed it, " very disagreeably circumstanced." 
Jay, indeed, was in Spain what Woodford was at a 
later date, persona non grata, as it is called, — in 
other words, not wanted ; he had, however, the satis- 
faction, in the end, of ignoring and humbling the 
haughty Dons who had both slighted and insulted 
him ; for when, in 1782, he was summoned to Paris 
to join Benjamin Franklin in negotiations for. peace 
with England he was able to conclude the matter 
without reference to the ungenerous and selfish 
demands of Spain. He lived to see not only the 
navigation but the ownership of the Mississippi 
vested in America, together with all the former 
possessions of Spain, even to the Pacific. He saw 
the very footing of Spain in America wrested from 
her by her own ill-treated and rebellious colonists, 
until, before he died, only the islands of the West 
Indies remained to her, themselves to be, after his 
day, torn from her by the uprising of her subjects 
and the indignant protests of the liberty-loving 
people of America. Truly, time works its own 
revenges. 

His services in France and England as peace- 
negotiator and treaty-maker were invaluable. Twice 
as much territory was secured from England as was 
proposed in the first overtures ; the fishing rights in 



JOHN JAY. 153 

the Atlantic and the navigation of the Mississippi 
were both acquired, and for this victory of diplo- 
macy John Jay was entitled to the chief credit. 
Even John Adams, one of the cliief commissioners, 
frankly and cordially acknowledged this. " The 
principal merit of the negotiation was Mr. Jay's," 
he declared ; " a man and his office were never 
better united than Mr. Jay and the commissioner 
for peace," and when, in 1784, the successful com- 
missioner started for home John Adams wrote to 
a mutual acquaintance : " Our worthy friend, Mr. 
Jay, returns to his country like a bee to his hive, 
with both legs loaded with merit and honor." 

Merit and honor, indeed, were his on his home- 
coming. His native New York gave him " the 
freedom of the city " in a gold box, " as a pledge of 
affection," and his desire to retire to private life 
was not granted by the Republic ; for he found on 
his arrival tliat he had been appointed by Congress 
secretary of foreign affaii"S. 

This was before the days of presidents and Cabi- 
nets, when the affairs of the States were still con- 
ducted under the articles of confederation and by 
committees of Congress. They were, as we know, 
very unsatisfactorily conducted, and were altogether 
unfitted to meet the demands of a growing nation. 
So the secretary for foreign affairs — much like 
what we call the Secretarj^ of State to-day — had 
his hands full. Jay had to settle the treaty troubles 
and commercial questions that arose between the 



154 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

United States and other nations, and he had some- 
times to take a tirm stand and sometimes to be 
yielding. He knew that one of the best means for 
keeping peace with foreign nations was a sufficient 
navy, and he urged on Congress, again and again, 
the necessity of building ships of war. Had his 
advice been followed the cowardly tribute-paying 
to the pirates of Algiers would have been stopped 
by war long before Decatur put an end to it with 
shot and shell. " As between war or tribute," he 
said, " I, for my part, prefer war ; " and the naval 
preparations he wished to put on foot would have 
made the American flag respected and feared in the 
Mediterranean, and maintained it as the banner of 
a formidable power far into the nineteenth cen- 
tury. 

He soon saw, as did other clear-headed states- 
men, that the Articles of Confederation could not 
long hold the States together. He was, therefore, 
a strong advocate of the Constitution, and declared 
by word and pen that "a national government was 
essential to avert dangers from foreign force and 
influence," of which, in his diplomatic relations 
with Spain and France and England, he had suffi- 
cient and depressing experience. 

When finally, in 1789, the Constitution was 
agreed upon and adopted, and the new nation was 
fairly set on its upward way. President Washington 
showed at once his appreciation of the ability and 
strength of John Jay, for he offered him the choice 



JOHN JAY. 155 

of any office in his gift, and Jay chose the dignified 
and exalted office of chief-justice of the United 
States. He was the first one to sit as the presiding 
officer of the Supreme Court, and Washington felt 
the choice to be so good that he wrote to Jay, " In 
nominating you for the important station which 
you now fill I not only acted in conformity with 
my best judgment, but I trust I did a grateful 
thing to the good citizens of these United States." 

Jay's attitude as chief-justice during a troubled 
and often stormy time was dignified, judicial, calm, 
and determined. Nothing but justice swayed liis 
decisions ; his integrity was unimpeachable ; his 
reputation was spotless ; and when, as the increasing 
troubles with England — which might have been 
avoided had John Jay's wise advice been followed 
— grew more threatening, because of England's re- 
fusal to keep the treaty obligations of 1784, Jay 
was selected by President Washington as the one 
man eminently fitted to smooth away difficulties 
and arrange a neutrality. 

It was neither a pleasant nor an easy task that 
was thus laid upon him. The country was in a war 
fever. England was acting like a bully, America 
like a fire-eater. The demand for war with Engf- 
hind swept away all caution. 

'•'■ You cannot imagine," John Adams said to his 
wife, writing from Philadelphia, " what horror some 
people are in lest peace should continue. The 
prospect of peace throws them into distress." 



156 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

It sounds quite like the Spanish war fever of 
1898, does it not ? People, you see, are just as ex- 
citable, just as unreasonable, and just as heedless 
of consequences in one century as another. 

But there are always some calm, cautious, patient 
men to act as balance wheels. 

"Peace," said Washington, and he was black- 
guarded for saying this, ''• ought to be pursued with 
unremitted zeal before contemplating that last 
resource, which has so often been the scourge of 
nations, and which cannot fail to check the advanc- 
ing prosperity of the United States." 

So, when Washington wished Jay to go as a 
special envoy to Great Britain to settle the dis- 
pute, if possible, the chief-justice knew that he 
was accepting an unpopular, even a detested duty. 

"So strong are the prejudices of the American 
people," said he, " that no man could form a treaty 
with Great Britain, however advantageous it might 
be to the country, who would not l)y his agency 
render himself so unpopular and odious as to blast 
all hope of political preferment." 

But he accepted it, because, as he declared, " the 
good of my country demands the sacrifice, and I 
am ready to make it." 

In that spirit of self-sacrifice John Jay showed 
his real patriotism ; for to do a disagreeable duty 
willingly and cheerfully is real courage, and to do 
it for the public good is patriotism. 

A treaty was arranged between Great Britain 



JOHN JAY. 157 

and America by which some things were conceded 
by both sides, while other things were only parti- 
ally settled. 

"I will endeavor to accommodate rather than 
dispute," Jay had said, like the statesman he was ; 
but because he did not dispute, because he gave 
up certain things and did not insist on others, the 
critics in America were furious. They could not, 
they would not admit the truth of Jay's noble 
words : " This was not a trial of diplomatic fenc- 
ing," he said, " but a solemn question of peace or war 
between two peoples in whose veins flowed the blood 
of a common ancestry, and on whose continued 
good understanding might perhaps depend the 
future freedom and happiness of the human race." 

In the light of events at the close of the nine- 
teenth century these words of John Jay at the close 
of the eighteenth centur}^ seem almost prophetic, 
for it took, indeed, a hundred years and three more 
to bring about, between England and America, 
that strain of good feeling which is at once wise, 
helpful, and practical. 

But any treaty that conceded anything to Eng- 
land was certain to be met with censure in the 
heated condition of public feeling in America in 
1794, and although recent historians, after a hun- 
dred years have passed, admit that " Jay's treaty 
was a masterpiece of diplomacy, considering the 
time and the circumstances of the country," the 
country — or at least the aggressive, talkative side 



158 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of it — violently attacked the treaty, and assailed 
the maker of it with the most fiery indignation and 
insults. He was written against, spoken against, 
almost fonght against. He was burned in effigy at 
Philadelphia and New York. He was charged 
with cowardice, bribery, and treason. His friends 
and apologists were howled down ; Hamilton was 
stoned in the street for attempting to defend Jay's 
treaty, while even Washington himself did not 
escape, but, because he upheld Jay's action, he was 
abused, he said, " like a Nero, a defaulter, and a 
pickpocket," until at last, in one of his infrequent 
passions, he declared he would rather be in his 
grave than be president. 

But even as Washington could not be moved 
when he felt that his judgment was right, so could 
neither censure nor insult move the calm dignity 
of John Jay. President Washington approved 
and signed the treaty, and Congress, in spite of 
public clamor, passed and proclaimed it, and " Jay's 
Treaty," as it is still called, is now conceded to 
have been, under the circumstances, the best that 
could have been made. It certainly postponed for 
years a second war with England. 

" Calumny," said John Jay, " is seldom deniable ; 
it will yield to truth." In his case it did yield to 
truth, and, before long, America was ashamed of the 
injustice and short-sightedness of some of her sons. 

Jay returned from Europe to find that he had 
been elected governor of New York, and, in spite 



JOHN JAY. 159 

of the public rage against him, he was reelected, 
and even declined a third nomination. As ofov- 
ernor he was as loyal to duty and as faithful to his 
trust as he had proved himself in every task 
imposed upon him. Influence could not move 
him nor patronage affect him. His one test of 
fitness was ability, and when one day an associate, 
making a plea for an office-seeker, assured the gov- 
ernor that the applicant belonged to his party 
Jay exclaimed emphatically, " That, sir, is not the 
question ; is he fit for the office ? " That should 
be the spirit of appointments to-day. When he 
was solicited to place in one man's position another 
who, though of the opposite party, could be made 
useful to him Jay replied indignantly, " What, 
sir ! Do you advise me to sell a friend that I may 
buy an enemy ? " 

When John Adams was elected president he 
worked hard to induce Jay to again acce]3t the post 
of chief-justice ; but he would not. For nearly 
thirty years he had held office in the State or nation, 
and he was weary and needed rest. 

So he retired to his farm at Bedford, in West- 
chester county, in 1801, and there he lived for 
twenty-eight years, meeting old age pleasantly, as a 
farmer and country gentleman, and there, on the 
fourteenth of May, 1829, he died, aged eighty-four 
years. 

Up to the time of his retirement from office at 
the age of fift3^-six his life had been spent almost 



160 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

entirely in the public service. Independent, honest, 
unprejudiced, discreet, truthful, u[)right, and just, 
he had done well for the Republic and, as one of his 
associates in the law declared, " Few men in any 
country, perhaps scarce one in this, have filled a 
larger space, and few have ever passed through 
life with such perfect purity, integrity, and honor." 
That is a grand thing for one man to say of 
another. But in the case of John' Jay it seems 
to have been well deserved. In critical times men 
relied upon his wisdom, his caution, his ability, 
and integrity. Washington honored him as an 
associate and loved him as a friend ; and his pure 
and spotless life, in which there was so little of 
selfishness, jealousy, or injustice, has endeared him 
to Americans as one of the best and brightest, 
most wise, and far-seeing of all our American 
patriots. 



XII. 

THE STORY OF JOHN MARSHALL, 
OF RICHMOND, 

CALLED "THE GREAT CHIEF-JUSTICE." 



Born at Germantown, Virginia, September 24, 1755. 
Died at Philadelphia, July 6, 1835. 



"The Constitution, since its adoption, owes more to John 
Marshall than to any other single mind for its true interpretation 
and vindication." — Joseph Story. 

The young man in the blanket, standing with 
his back to the bhizing logs, said cheerily as a 
knock resounded on the outer door of the hut, 
" Open up, Porterfield. You 're butler to-day, and 
footman too. You 've got the clothes of the whole 
mess." 

The officer thus accosted flung open the door 
and a soldier entered, saluting. 

" What is it, orderly ? " inquired Porterfield. 

" A note from the commander-in-chief, sir," 
replied the messenger, " for Lieutenant Marshall." 

The figure wrapped in the blanket slipped from 
before the open fire and took the proffered note. 
Opening it, he read it, reread it, rubbed his chin 

161 



162 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

thoughtfully while a quizzical sort of smile played 
about his fine mouth, and then said to the messen- 
ger, " My compliments to the general, orderly. 
Pray say to him that I accept with pleasure." 

The orderly saluted and withdrew. Again the 
lieutenant ran over the note and looked up with a 
smile of mingled pleasure and perplexity. 

" It 's my turn to-day, boys," he said. " Hear 
this : ' General Washington presents his compli- 
ments to Lieutenant Marshall and will be glad to 
have his company to-day at dinner, at headquarters, 
at the usual hour.' " 

" And you 're going ? " asked Porterfield. 

Marshall nodded. 

"In that rig?" queried Lieutenant Slaughter, 
from his home-made bench, where he was carefully 
tightening a cloth about a ver}^ ragged shoe. 

" Well, hardly," Marshall replied. " The general 
likes full dress at dinner, you know, and this is " — 

" Undress," suggested Porterfield. 

" Precisely. Now, I 'm not going to decline, as 
you fellows do when his Excellency honors you 
with an invite," Marshall went on. "Some day 
you 11 be proud to say that you dined with Wash- 
ington, especially when one has such an appetite as 
I have, and the Goodevrow Onderdonk's last apple- 
pies were so hard that we played football with 
'em. See here, boys, I "m going to levy on each 
one of you for contributions. You '11 have to lend 
me a shirt. Slaughter." 




"A NOTE FROM THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, SIR," REPLIED THE 
MESSENGER. 



JOHN MARSHALL. 163 

" Can't do it, Jack," the lieutenant on the bench 
rephecl. " This one is n't fresh enough, and I 
gave my only other one this very morning to one 
of the Rhode Island boys who was mighty nigh 
frozen." 

" Same here with stockings," Porterfield chimed 
in. " I 'd let you have these, Marshall, but I can't 
go bare-legged in this weather." 

" Johnson has a pair of stockings, I know," said 
Marshall. " I saw them in his kit yesterday. No 
shirt, eh? I reckon mine will be back from the 
wash in time. Nice state of affairs for the lieu- 
tenant of Taliafero's (he called it Tolliver's) shirt 
men to be in, is n't it ? That 's what Dunmore's 
Tories used to call us, you remember, Porterfield, 
when we chased 'em out of Suffolk in our ofreen 
hunting-shirts, home spun, home woven, and home 
made." 

" Oh ! you were one of John Randolph's Virginia 
minute-men, eh ? " queried Porterfield. " Raised in 
a minute, armed in a minute, marched in a minute, 
fought in a minute, and vanquished in a minute — 
that 's why they called you minute-men, he said." 

" Well, I 've got to be armed in a minute now, if 
I 'm going to dine at headquarters," said Mai^shall. 
" Come, boys, you 've just got to fix me up. John 
Marshall never breaks his word, you know." 

So in that snow-covered hut of logs, scantily 
warmed by the log fire, and less scantily furnished 
with home-made necessities, the jolly mess of five 



164 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

shivering and scantily clothed but healthy and 
even-tempered young officers of the Continental 
army went to work to make Lieutenant Marshall 
presentable for tlie dinner-table of the commander- 
in-chief at headquarters in Valley Forge. 

They had scarcely a complete suit among them ; 
for what was not worn out they had given away to 
the freezing privates, like the generous-hearted boys 
they were. But, by careful selection, they man- 
aged at last to fit out for the " banquet " their com- 
rade, John ^Marshall, of Fauquier county, — " the 
best-tempered fellow I ever knew," so one of them 
declared. 

Captain Johnson's stockings. Captain Porter- 
field's breeches, Lieutenant Porterfield's waistcoat, 
with John Marshall's own coat, his own shirt 
hurried back from the wash, and adorned with the 
wristbands and collar which Lieutenant Slaughter 
had made for dress occasions from the bosom of his 
own well-worn shirt, — these made the young sol- 
dier fairly presentable ; and thus equipped in bor- 
rowed plumage, Lieut. John Marshall ploughed 
through the snow to headquarters, — the old Potts 
house at Valley Forge, — to dine with the com- 
mander-in-chief, and to receive his promotion as 
captain for gallant services at Germantown and 
Brandywine. 

As John Marshall was at Valley Forge in that 
dark and distressing winter so he ever was as a 
young man. "Nothing discouraged him, nothing 



JOHN MARSHALL. 165 

disturbed him," said his friend Slaughter, who lent 
him tlie collar and cuffs. " If he had only bread to 
eat, it was just as well ; if only meal, it made no dif- 
ference. If any of the officers murmured at their 
deprivations he would shame them l)y good-natured 
raillery or encourage them by his own exuberance 
of spirits." 

It is no wonder that the young soldier — he 
was only twenty-two — was liked by the officers, 
from Washington down, and by the soldiei-s in the 
camp. He was such a pleasant comrade that he 
made even that dreary camp lively with his fun, his 
stories, and his continual good-nature, and he was 
chosen, again and again, to arbitrate the disputes 
that, in a cramped and snow-bound winter camp, 
were often breaking out between less adaptable offi- 
cers. His decisions were always abided by, and so 
wise and just were his counsels in these camp quar- 
rels that he was, in time, appointed deputy judge- 
advocate of the army at Valley Forge. 

This judicial fairness and ability to counsel and 
advise had characterized John Marshall from boy- 
hood. His father was a veteran of the French war 
and a colonel in the Continental army, who, during 
that terrible winter at Valley Forge, shared all its 
hardships with three of his seven sons. Of these 
seven sons John Marshall was the eldest, born at 
the village of Germantown, in Virginia, on the 
twenty-fourth of September, 1755. 

He was an active and energetic, if sometimes a 



166 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

careless and fun-loving boy, as ready for a game of 
quoits, a foot race, or a wrestling match as for a 
drill on tlie muster field or a tug at liis Latin, 
Spite of his willingness to play he was a ready 
student, for at twelve years old he knew Pope by 
heart and could quote by the hour from Shake- 
speare, Dryden, or jNIilton, while at eighteen he was 
making ready for his own bread-winning by study- 
ing to become a lawyer. 

But the American Revolution called him from 
his studies and sent him into the armj^ firet as one 
of the blue-shirted Virginia minute-men and then as 
a lieutenant in the Virginia line. He fought under 
Washington at German town and ^Monmouth; he was 
in the daring dash of Wayne at Stony Point ; he 
helped drive the traitor Arnold from Virginia and 
then, the Revolution over, he went quietly back to 
his law studies to become in time a successful Rich- 
mond lawyer, a member of the Virginia Legislature, 
a member of the governor's council, a general in 
the State militia, a member of the Virginia Consti- 
tutional Convention, the best-liked Virginian of his 
day, a defender of the new Constitution of the 
United States, and an envoy to France, when 
France seemed bent on blackmailing the United 
States, but could o\\\y force from our envoys, 
Pinckney and Marshall, the famous declaration 
that America remembers with pride to this day : 
" Millions for defence, but not one cent for 
tribute." 



JOHN MARSHALL. 167 

For the bold stand he then took against the 
artful Talleyrand the American people gave him 
great praise. "Of the three envoys to France," 
said President John Adams, "the conduct of 
Marshall alone has been entirely satisfactory and 
ought to be marked by the most decided approba- 
tion of the public. He has raised the American 
people in their own esteem ; and if the influence 
of truth and justice, reason and argument, is not 
lost in Europe, he has raised the consideration of 
the United States in that quarter." 

The president would at once have appointed 
him one of the judges of the Supreme Court, but 
Mai-shall declined ; the people of Virginia desired 
to send him to Congress, and although he pre- 
ferred to devote himself to his large practice as a 
lawyer he finally accepted the nomination and, in 
1799, he was elected and took his seat as a repre- 
sentative from Virginia, in December of that 
year. 

Almost the fii-st duty that devolved upon the new 
congressman was to notify the House that his friend, 
and America's deliverer, George Washington, was 
dead. 

It was on the nineteenth of December that Mar- 
shall conveyed to his colleagues this melancholy in- 
telligence. Rising in his seat with a voice low and 
solemn, Avhile his words almost trembled into teare, 
he said : " The melancholy event, which was yes- 
terday-announced with doubt, has been rendered but 



168 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

too certain. Our Washington is no more ! The 
hero, the patriot, the sage of America, the man on 
whom in times of danger every eye was turned and 
all hopes were placed, lives now only in his own 
great actions, and in the hearts of an affectionate 
and afflicted people." 

Then, in a few brief, eloquent words, heavy 
with sorrow and filled with reverent appreciation, 
jNIarshall pronounced his short eulogy on his old 
commander, leader, and friend, closing with the 
resolutions, prepared by " Light-horse Harry " Lee, 
but effectively read by John Marshall, and now 
known to all the world. 

" Resolved^''' the resolution concluded, " That a 
committee, in conjunction with one from the Senate, 
be appointed to consider the most suitable manner 
of paying honors to the memory of the man first in 
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his fel- 
low-citizens." 

President Adams, who held the abilities and ser- 
vices of ]\Lirshall in such high regard, again begged 
to be allowed to make use of him in the conduct of 
his own administration, and having secured, at last, 
a reluctant consent, he appointed John JNIarshall, 
upon the adjournment of Congress, in May, 1800, 
secretary of state. 

But even this high honor did not fully satisfy the 
desires of the JNLissachusetts statesman, who held 
the Virginia statesman in such esteem ; for, in less 
than a year after tlie appointment. President Adams, 



JOHN MARSHALL. 169 

on the thirty-first of January, 1801, named John 
Marshall as chief-justice of the United States. 

It was one of the last official acts of John 
Adams, and as has well been said of it, " never was 
a more correct appreciation of fitness shown." 

"If President Adams," says Mr. Magruder, 
"had left no other claims on the grateful remem- 
brance of his countrymen than in giving to the 
public service this great magistrate, so pure and so 
wise, he would always have lived in that act as a 
great benefactor of his country. The aged patriot 
survived long enough to see abundant proof of the 
soundness of his choice, and to rejoice in it." 

That this opinion is borne out by the facts every 
student of American history and American law 
must agree. " He was born to be cliief-justice of 
any country in which he lived," one lawyer who 
heard Marshall's masterly decisions enthusiasti- 
cally exclaimed, and Professor Channing declares 
that Marshall "proved to be the ablest legal lumi- 
nary that America has yet produced." 

For thirty-five years John Mai-shall remained at 
the head of the Supreme Court as chief-justice of 
the United States. Impartial, judicial, courageous, 
clear, discriminating, just, and wise, possessing 
alike what are called the judicial instinct and the 
constructive faculty, he taught, by his opinions 
and his decisions, the supreme power of the nation 
and the supreme position of the Constitution of 
the United States as the written law of the land. 



170 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

He did this so well, so forcibly, and so decisively 
that he established, as much as any other American 
statesman, the value of the Constitution as a perma- 
nent authority, and the position of the nation as tlie 
head and controller of the affairs of the Republic. 

Through all the changes of parties and presi- 
dents he remained the head of the greatest legal 
body on earth, in a position which he appreciated 
so highly that he declared he preferred to be chief- 
justice to being president. 

And yet, notwithstanding the dignity of his 
position and the greatness of the responsibilities it 
entailed, he remained throughout his long and 
priceless service the same simple, sweet-tempered, 
helpful, earnest character that he was when, amid 
the snow-covered huts of Valley Forge, he kept up 
the spirits and lightened the depression of his 
comrades. For more than forty years he was a 
member of the Richmond Quoit Club, and he was 
as keen and deft a hand at that athletic sport as 
when, years and 3'ears before, he had challenged his 
companions to a game on the parade ground where 
Taliafero's " shirt men " gathered for their muster. 

In all things which he believed, his convic- 
tions were deep and his loyalty to them lasting. 
One evening, in a tavern in the town of Winchester, 
in Northern Virginia, a group of three or four 
young lawyers were discussing, first, eloquence, and 
then religion. As they talked, a gig drove up to 
the tavern and a tall, bright-eyed, venerable man 



JOHN MARSHALL. 171 

of nearly eighty descended from the gig and came 
into the room. He wore his hair in a queue, and 
was plainly dressed, so plainly, in fact, that the 
young debaters took him for some travelling 
farmer, and simply nodding their " How d'ye do ? " 
went on with their discussion. 

All the evening the talk continued, each one air- 
ing his opinions and advancing his arguments until 
it seemed as if the advocates of Christianity were 
getting the worst of the discussion, while near at 
hand, a silent, modest-appearing listener, the old 
man still sat, as if deriving alike benefit and infor- 
mation from the words of the heated young dispu- 
tants. 

Suddenly one of the young fellows who had 
taken the stand against Christianity, as if to see 
how convincing his arguments had been to an out- 
sider, turned to the old man and asked brusquely 
and just a bit patronizingly, " Well, old gentleman, 
what do you think about these things ? " 

A more surprised group of over-confident young 
men would have been hard to find when the " old 
granger," as the boys of to-day might have called 
the unassuming traveller of the rickety gig, replied 
directly to the carelessly put question of the young 
debater; for he entered at once upon a defence 
of Christianity so clear, so forcible, so simple and 
energetic, and yet, withal, so direct and convincing, 
that doubt was conquered and even unbelief was 
checked. 



172 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The young men sat intent and silent, with no 
arguments to advance in rebuttal and with only 
delight and admiration for the speaiier's words. 

Still they sat silent as the stranger rose and bade 
them a cheery good-night. Then curiosity got the 
better of appreciation, and they fell to wondering 
who the " old gentleman " was. 

" Must be a parson," one of them remarked. 

" Sure," assented another. " He talked just like 
a preacher. I wonder where he 's from ? " 

Just then the landlord came back from lighting 
his guest to bed. 

" Who was the old party ? Where does he come 
from ? Where does he preach ? " were the ques- 
tions that greeted him from all parts of the room. 

" Preach ? What are you talking about, boys ? 
He's no preacher," said the landlord, with the 
superiority of knowledge. "• Did n't you know 
who it was? That was Judge ^larehall, from 
down in Fauquier county." 

The young fellows looked at each other in dismay. 

" Judge Marshall ? " they said. " Not " — 

"Yes, but it was, thougli," replied the land- 
lord, answering their unspoken and hesitating in- 
quiry. " That's Judge John Marshall, chief-justice 
of the United States. .Reckon the old gentleman 
knows more than you thought he did, eh? Oh, 
yes, I knew him all the time." 

But while the landlord laughed aloud at their 
discomfort more than one of these young men 



JOHN MARSHALL. 173 

recalled the earnest, convincing, and inspiring 
words of the speaker, and never forgot the faith or 
the fervor of Chief-Justice ^Marshall. 

So with blended humor, pathos, and dignity, 
with love of sport and strength of belief, with 
simple tastes and homely manners, but with the 
courage of his convictions, a strong mind, a mas- 
terly grasp, and an intelligence and breadth that 
lifted him above his fellow-workers, the life of 
John Marshall, the great chief-justice, kept the 
tenor of its way unto the end. 

No man in all America did so much to teach his 
countrymen the meaning of the Constitution of 
the United States or the real scope and limit of 
the powers granted by the people through the Con- 
stitution to their general government. His deci- 
sions have been the basis of opinions and arguments 
for a hundred years, his constructions of intentions 
and meanings have been adopted without criticism, 
his exposition of the law as laid down in the Con- 
stitution has been accepted without dissent. 

Unbiased, logical, fair, and good-tempered, 
patient through all the intricacies of the law and 
calm under all its disappointments and delays, 
loving toward his friends, conciliatory toward his 
opponents, few American lawyers have been more 
popular when living or more revered when dead. 

To-day his residence in Richmond is still an o]> 
ject of curiosity and regard for the visitor to that 
beautiful Virginian capital, while the splendid 



174 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

equestrian statue of Washington that adorns its 
tree-embowered square bears upon its pedestal the 
bronze statue of John ^Marshall as the representa- 
tive of Justice and as one of the sujjporters of the 
great president. And this is right. For of all the 
men of his day there was no one who earlier saw 
and appreciated the justice of the cause for which 
Washington labored ; there was none who in later 
life led his countrymen more truly along the path 
of national honor and national strength by his wise 
and unquestioned counsels than did the great chief- 
justice of the United States, John Marshall, the 
Virginian and American. 



XIII. 

THE STORY OF JAMES MADISON, OF 
MONTPELLIER, 

CALLED "THE FATHER OF THE CONSTITUTION." 



Born at Port Conway, Virginia, March IG, 1751. 
Died at Montpellier, Virginia, June 28, 1836. 



'^ He was not the sort of hero for whom people throw up their 
caps and shout themselves hoarse ; but his work was of a kind 
that will long be powerful for good in the world." — John Fiske. 

There was excitement on the college campus 
and within the college walls. From out the plain 
building that was at once dormitory, chapel, and 
school-room, where the great portrait of King 
George the Second frowned down upon the pro- 
testing students, black-robed figures streamed out 
upon the college green, where already a fire was 
crackling and climbing as if anxious for some 
accepted sacrifice. 

The sacrifice was evidently ready. For as the 
young collegians in their black robes formed, two 
and two, and winding out from Nassau hall serpen- 
tined over the college green to the tolling of the 
bell and gathered about the fire, out from the ranks 

175 



176 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

stepped two young fellows, one of whom held in 
his hand a copy of one of the abbreviated and un- 
attractive looking newspapers of that day. 

It was a July night in the year 1770. The col- 
lege windows were open, the college bell was toll- 
ing, the college spirit was aroused, and while from 
the doorway the well-recognized form of the college 
president, good Doctor Witherspoon, the patriot of 
Princeton, looked down in unacknowledged but 
very evident sympathy upon the scene, the black- 
gowned student with the paper shook it aloft and 
with the sentiment, " So perish all foes to liberty ! " 
thrust the newspaper into the fire. 

It was a suttee of a copy of "Rivington's Ga- 
zette," in which had been published a letter from cer- 
tain weak-kneed and unpatriotic merchants of New 
York who had proved false to their pledge under 
the non-importation agreement and had written to 
the merchants of Philadelphia requesting them to 
act with them against the Non-Importation Act, 
which, so these thrifty merchants thought, would 
be a boon to trade, to profit, and to security. 

But the students of Princeton College were " true 
blue " patriots. Some of them already belonged 
to the aggressive " Sons of Liberty," and all of 
them were ready to stand forth as friend and 
follower of independence, the cause to which their 
preceptor, good Doctor Witherspoon, was already 
committed, and for which he taught his students 
to love and to labor — even to die. 



JAMES MADISON. 177 

Earnest and enthusiastic in this boyish revenge 
upon a time-serving and unpatriotic act one young 
Princetonian was foremost in his groans for the 
merchants and his cheers for the Sons of Liberty, 
President Witherspoon, and non-importation. 

He was a slight-built, not over strong, keen-eyed 
young fellow of nineteen, unused to demonstra- 
tions and unskilled in hurrahs. But on this niCTht 
his enthusiasm mastered him, and quiet, unobtru- 
sive, serious and often solemn James Madison, the 
Virginia boy, was as vociferous as the rest. 

He never was much of a real boy — the restless, 
impulsive, active, careless college boy most familiar 
to us. Indeed, one of liis biographers declares that 
he seems never to have been a young man. But 
such an occasion as this stirred him to enthusiasm 
as few occurrences did, so that one can scarcely tell, 
as he reads his letter home, giving an account of the 
student's bonfire, which stirred and inspired James 
Madison most — the tolling bell, the solemn march 
and the parading black robes in the college yard, 
or the practical and exuberant patriotism of the 
college boys of that year of 1770, when they were, 
" all of them, dressed in American cloth." 

Indeed, the studious, serious-minded, and sober- 
faced young Virginian, who seems to have in- 
dulged in few laughs and less jokes in all his busy 
life, interested himself, while little more than a boy, 
in the great questions that were disturbing Amer- 
ica and upsetting the world in the last quarter of 



178 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

the eighteenth century. For we come upon such 
a letter as this, Avi-itten from his quiet country home 
to a boy friend, left behind at Princeton, when the 
writer was but a very young man : 

" We are very busy at present in raising men 
and procuring the necessaries for defending our- 
selves and our friends, in case of a sudden inva- 
sion. The extensiveness of the demands of the 
Congress, and the pride of the British nation, to- 
gether with the wickedness of the present minis- 
try, seem, in the judgment of all politicians, to 
require a preparation for extreme events." 

When these " extreme events " came at last, 
young James Madison was not only prepared for 
them, he bore a part in them. It was not the part 
of a soldier, for he was weak in body and poor in 
health ; indeed, we find him in a letter to a young 
friend lamenting that while that friend had " health, 
youth, fire, and genius to bear you along the high 
track of public life," he, James Madison, was " too 
dull and infirm to look for any extraordinary things 
in this world," and could not " expect a long or 
heal^-hy life." And yet that " dull and infirm " 
young invalid lived for more than sixty years after 
that letter was W' ritten, and became one of the most 
active and foremost men of his day and generation. 

But if he could not bear the part of a soldier at 
the front he did, early in his career, assume the 
work of the statesman. When but twenty-three 
years old he was appointed a member of the Virginia 



JAMES MADISON. 179 

Committee of Safety of 1774 — the youngest mem- 
ber of thalt important body, and in 1776 he was 
elected a delegate to the Virginia Convention, where 
he helped prepare the famous " Bill of Rights," 
which placed Virginia beside Massachusetts in 
the opening struggle with England, and, what is al- 
most as important in Madison's story, where he first 
met the man who through very nearly all the years 
of Madison's life was to him as " guide, philosopher, 
and friend " — Thomas Jefferaon, of Monticello. 

The Bill of Rights was, in effect, a declaration 
of what the proposed State of Virginia meant to do 
for the comfort and freedom of its people, and in 
it James Madison proposed and prepared the clause 
providing for toleration in the free exercise of 
religion to which all men are equally entitled ac- 
cording to the dictates of conscience — not a bad 
way for a young statesman to begin his public work. 

Before he was thirty years old, in December, 
1779, James Madison was elected by the Legislature 
of Virginia as one of its delegates to the Continental 
Congress, and thus began his long career of public 
service of over forty years, — a service that closed 
only with his retirement from the highest office in 
the gift of the United States. 

His congressional life filled many busy years, 
and his services were of lasting value to the Re- 
public. It was he who stood out longest and 
strongest against the encroachments of Spain, and 
demanded from that procrastinating nation the 



180 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

rights to navigate the Mississippi ; it was he who 
dechxred in Congress that the demands and desires 
of constituents shouki not be binding upon their 
representatives in Congress ; it was he who dechired 
that " the existing Confederacy is tottering to its 
foundation," and urged a speedy binding of all the 
States together in a firm national government — 
"the Union before the States and for the sake of 
the States ; " it was he who proposed a certain plan 
of union out of wliich the Constitution of the United 
States was finally evolved, and this proj)osition, 
linked to his careful report of the proceedings of the 
convention which made the Constitution, has caused 
him to divide with Alexander Hamilton the title of 
" Father of the Constitution." It was James Madi- 
son who, joined with Hamilton and Jay, wrote a 
number of carefully prepared, thoughtful, and ex- 
haustive papers on the nature and meaning of the 
Federal Constitution, as the great document was 
often called ; these papers were collected in a volume 
called " The Federalist " — a treatise which is, to- 
day, according to Professor Channing, " the best 
commentary on the Constitution and one which 
should be studied by all who desire to have a through 
comprehension of its provisions." 

It was James Madison who, when elected a mem- 
ber of the Virginia Constitutional Convention, 
fought through to adoption the question of accept- 
ing and abiding by the Union and the Constitu- 
tion in the face of the opposition of Patrick Henry 



JAMES MADISON. 181 

and other leading Virginians who did not believe 
in the Union and would not agree to the Constitu- 
tion. He won his victory, and Virginia, by a 
majority of ten, adopted the Constitution — ■ that 
Constitution of the United States under which we 
live to-day, and of which James Madison said : 
" Every man who loves peace, every man who loves 
his country, every man who loves liberty, ought to 
have this Constitution ever before his eyes, that he 
may cherish in his heart a due attachment to the 
Union of America and be able to set a due value 
on the means of preserving it." 

In this work of suggesting, framing, defending, 
and establishing the immortal Constitution of the 
United States James Madison did the best and 
greatest service of his life. He shaped and set in 
action the party which advocated, championed, and 
established the Constitution, — the party of Wash- 
ington and Hamilton, — the party to which he gave 
the name of " Federalist," and of which he was es- 
teemed the father. Indeed, if he is not to be reck- 
oned the " Father of the Constitution " itself, he is 
at least the creator of the Federalist party. In this 
Madison made his place in the history of the 
Republic. But after the adoption of the Consti- 
tution Madison became more and more influenced 
by Thomas Jefferson, and gradually went over to 
his side as one who was the leader in his State, and 
therefore the one to whom he should be loyal as a 
Virginian rather than an American. This mis- 



182 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

taken loyalty went so far that, at last, James Mad- 
ison left the party of Washington and Hamilton, 
became an anti-Federalist, or rather a Jeffersonian, 
— a follower and ally of the great democrat. He 
served in Jefferson's administration as secretary of 
state, and succeeded him as president of the United 
States, to \\iiich high office he was twice elected. 

It was during his service as president, from March 
4, 1809, to March 4, 1817, that the Republic went 
through the strain and stress of the second war 
with England, called the war of 1812, as unnec- 
essary and as 'avoidable as tlie war with Spain 
in 1898 ; like that war, too, it scored its greatest 
glories on the sea. It was a leaderless war both 
as regards the president who should have controlled 
and the generals who should have conducted it; 
for only the brilliant but needless victory of Jack- 
son at New Orleans remains with us as the one 
military glory of that three-years' war of 1812. 
But on the sea it was memorable in the naval 
annals of America. The names of Hull and Perry 
and Lawrence shed lustre on an otherwise unsatis- 
factory war, in which those famous sea-fighters were 
the forerunners in braver}', brilliancy, and success of 
Farragut and Dewey and Sampson and Schley. 

Like President McKinley in 1898, President 
Madison in 1812 neither desired nor advocated 
war, but, instead, worked for peace, only to be forced 
into war by an unfortunate naval disaster, the clam- 
ors of tlie war-shouters, and the action of a belliger- 



JAMES MADISON. 183 

ent Congress. So far, the story of the two wars 
runs parallel; but, unlike President McKinley, 
President Madison was not equal to the situation, 
nor was he designed by nature or disposition, by 
training or temperament, to be the conductor of a 
war or the commander-in-chief of armies and 
navies. Able and amiable, designed to make 
laws rather than to execute them, he found himself 
plunged into a war which he neither desired nor 
aj)proved, and was forced, contrary to his own 
wishes, to conduct it either to failure or success. 
Badly advised and poorly served ; invading Can- 
ada when he should have strengthened liis own 
defences ; careless of naval operations and unable 
to understand those on land, Madison scarcely 
made a success as a war president. In 1898, too, 
the whole country was united in action when the 
necessity for action came ; but in 1812, besides an 
invading enemy, Madison had to face and strive 
against, within the borders of the Republic, a large, 
persistent, and influential opposition to what was 
called " Mr. Madison's War." The New England 
States, while bearing their share, as required by law, 
in the conflict with England, regarded the war with 
absolute disfavor and open discontent. Their har- 
bors were unprotected, their trade was ruined by 
harsh methods, their men of affairs had no confi- 
dence in those in charge of the war, and, finally, the 
representatives of New England assembled in con- 
vention at Hartford, in Connecticut, threatened to 



184 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

take mattere into tlieir own hands, and even to set 
up the authority of the States against that of the 
government. But before anything could be decided 
upon the war came to a sudden end, Jackson's vic- 
tory at New Orleans gave a tinge of success and 
glory to the close of the strife, and the New England 
" objectoi-s " found themselves suddenly in a ridic- 
ulous minority. Then James Madison, president, 
completed the Treaty of Ghent, which brought 
peace to his country, and, " of all men, had," as ]Mr. 
Gay says, " the most reason to be glad for a safe de- 
liverance from the consequences of his own want of 
foresight and want of firmness." 

During the war the British had made a descent 
upon Washington, burned the public buildings, and 
sent president, Cabinet, and military " defenders " 
fleeing for their lives, when proper precautions^, 
taken in time, might have prevented alike the in- 
vasion and destruction. But such disasters are the 
fortunes of war, and ]\Iadison should not be made 
the scapegoat, as he too often has been, for this dis- 
graceful and unnecessary catastroplie. 

It was a temporary disgrace, however. Presi- 
dent and people soon recovered from its effects, and 
were made more united, less provincial ; more a 
nation, and less a simple confederation. Indeed, 
as one historian asserts, "the War of 1812 has been 
often and truly called the Second War of Inde- 
pendence," an independence not merely of other 
nations, but of the hampering, old-time condition 



JAMES MADISON. 185 

and traditions of the narrow colonial days. So, 
after all, like the Spanish war of 1898, it was, if 
unnecessary, not unproductive of good as part of 
that Divine plan which permits wars for the sake 
of national development, progress, humanity, and 
manliness. 

In all of this progress James Madison had a share, 
and no one welcomed peace with more delight or 
more strenuously endeavored to heal the cruel 
wounds of war. His efforts, which were strong, 
practical, sincere, statesmanlike, and patriotic, were 
attended with success, and the prestige lost by him 
through lack of warlike ability was restored to him 
by his efforts towards the public good; for, as 
the evils and ill-feeling of the war melted away, the 
people received with appreciative satisfaction the 
eighth and last annual message of the president 
of the United States. 

" I can indulge the proud reflection," he said, 
" that the American people have reached in safety 
and success their fortieth year as an independent 
nation ; that for nearly an entire generation they 
have had experience of their present Constitution, 
the offspring of their undisturbed deliberation and 
of their free choice ; that they have found it to 
bear the trials of adverse as well as of prosperous 
circumstances ; to contain in its combination of 
the federate and elective principles a reconcile- 
ment of public strength with individual liberty, of 
national power for the defence of national rights, 



186 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

with a security against wars of injustice, of ambi- 
tion, and of vainglory, and in the fundamental pro- 
vision which subjects all questions of war to the 
will of the nation itself, which is to pay its costs 
and feel its calamities. Nor is it less a peculiar 
felicity of this Constitution, so dear to us all, that 
it is found to be capable, without losing the vital 
energies, of expanding itself over a spacious terri- 
tory with the increase and expansion of the com- 
munity for whose benefit it was established." 

It is natural for a man who has done a fine piece 
of work to regard it with affection and speak of it 
with pride. So, on the occasion of liis retirement 
from public life, which came in 1817 at the con- 
clusion of his second term as president, Mr. Madi- 
son, in his last annual message, fell back, as you 
have seen, to the piece of his own handiwork he 
admired most, — the Constitution,^ — and begged his 
fellow-countrymen to look upon it with equal pride 
and veneration. 

May not this remark from " the Father of the 
Constitution" also be seriously considered by those 
who to-day affirm that " the Fathers " and the " Con- 
stitution " were opposed to American expansion and 
progress ? 

And as the old veteran — worn and weakened 
by his long service and the trials he had undergone 
— drops out of public life into the happy retirement 
of his Virginia farm at Montpellier, where he died 
in 1836, at the age of eighty-five, we can readily give 



JAMES MADISON. 187 

him place as one of those historic Americans who 
biiilded even better than he knew when lie did so 
large and so grand a share towards the production 
of the immortal Constitution of the United States — 
a paper which Professor Channing calls " the most 
marvellous political instrument that has ever been 
formulated. It was designed," he sajs, "by men 
familiar with the mode of life of the eighteenth 
century, to provide an escape from the intolerable 
conditions of that time, and to furnish a practicable 
form of government for four millions of human 
beings inhabiting the fringe of a continent. It has 
proved, with exceptions, sufficient for the govern- 
ment of seventy millions, living in forty-five States, 
covering an area imperial in extent and under 
circuuLstances unthought of in 1787." Should 
Americans question the ability of that immortal 
document to prove equal to the necessities and 
emergencies of even wider growth and vaster 
development ? 

And for this beneficent, enduring, and world- 
famous national covenant the Republic has largely 
to thank its illustrious son and patriotic defender, 
James Madison, of Montpellier, fourth president of 
the United States. 



XIV. 

THE STORY OF JAMES MONROE, OF 
WESTMORELAND, 

CALLED THE "AUTHOR OF THE MONROE 
DOCTRINE." 



Born at Monroe's Creek, Virginia, April 28, 1758. 
Died in New York City, July 4, 1831. 



" A career like his will never be forgotten. Its story will 
reveal the mind and heart of a patriot, in new and trying situa- 
tions, true to the idea of American independence from Eurojiean 
interference." — Daniel Coit Oilman. 

" Now, boys ! Down with the bloody Hessians ! 
We '11 show 'em what they get for pestering 
Americans. Follow me. For the guns I Charge ! " 

Stirling's brigade was on the double-quick down 
King street ; the third shot from Hamilton's bat- 
tery, where the Trenton Battle monument now 
stands, had tumbled over the Hessian pieces which 
had been rushed up the street to check the Ameri- 
can assault ; Rahl's grenadiere came hurrying out of 
Queen street ; the fusiliers of the Lossberg regi- 
ment swung around from Church alley ; a dash 
was made to right the disabled guns, and stop the 
on-rush of Stirling's men. 

188 



JAMES MONROE. 189 

Then it was that one of the boys of Weedon's 
regiment, a lieutenant of the Third Virginia line, 
headed a file of his own company and, rattling off 
the challenge and the order I have quoted, flashed 
his sword in command and dashed straight against 
the reenforced Hessian battery on the stone bridge 
across Petty 's Run. 

The Hessians broke before the fierce charge of 
Stirling's men ; but, even as they turned, they sent 
a volley whistling across the debated battery ; the 
lieutenant's dash was stopped for a moment as he 
spun around like a top, with a bullet in his shoulder ; 
but at once he recovered himself, and with deter- 
mination intensified by the wound he now liad to 
reckon for, he flung himself on the battery, his men 
at his heels. 

The two Hessian field-pieces that were still 
unharmed were seized upon by the lieutenant, 
wheeled about, and trained upon tlie wavering, 
panic-stricken grenadiei*s of Rahl ; full into their 
ranks plunged their own confiscated shot, and then, 
still led by the boy lieutenant, the captors of the. 
guns, joined by the whole force of Stirling's brigade, 
charged with the cold bayonet upon the now con- 
fused and huddling mass of grenadiers and fusiliers 
and pushed them down King street and out of the 
town. 

Brave Colonel Rahl, the Hessian leader, dashed 
after his retreating troops. 

"Right about!" he thundered. " Don't run 



190 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

from these rebel clocks ! Back into the villacre with 
you ! Kill them ; drive them back ! " 

Accustomed to obey, the Hessians rallied and 
turned back. But to no effect. Stirling's men 
were about them and upon them in an instant. 
From houses and fences on Kinp- street came tlie 
musket-crack of the Virginian sharpshootere, while 
the boy lieutenant and his captured battery of two 
guns held the Hessian return at bay. The bridge 
across the Assunpink was in the hands of the Ameri- 
cans ; every avenue of escape was closed ; but Rahl, 
determined upon one last dash, shouted, " All avIio 
are my grenadiers, forward ! " Crack ! went one of 
the muskets of the young lieutenant's company ; 
ping ! sang the bullet through the air, and Colonel 
Rahl fell from his horse, wounded to the death. 

The trundling field-pieces blazed away once more 
into the leaderless Hessian ranks ; the regiments 
" Rahl " and " Lossberg," broke in demoralization ; 
and crowding pell-mell into the apple-orchard, near 
where now stands the post-office building on State 
street, they lowered their standards, grounded arms, 
and with the officers' hats swinging on the points of 
their swords in token of defeat tlie Hessians sur- 
rendered, the battle of Trenton had been won, and 
right in the heart of what is now the capital city 
of New Jersey Washington had struck Britain a 
blow from which it never recovered : for he had 
turned the tide ; he had won a victory that aston- 
ished the world; he had proved to the American 



JAMES MONROE. 191 

people that British troops were not invincible ; and 
he forced the ministers of King George to declare 
in after years that " all our hopes were blasted by 
that unhappy affair at Trenton." 

In that " unhappy affair," which proved so glo- 
rious an affair for America, the boy lieutenant of 
eighteen, who with a broken shoulder still led his 
men to the capture of the Hessian battery and the 
surrender in the apple-orchard, was James Monroe, 
of Westmoreland county, Virginia. 

That wounded shoulder stayed by him all through 
life ; the bullet he kept as a souvenir of Trenton 
— but always in his shoulder ; for it was never ex- 
tracted. But it made him a captain, major, lieuten- 
ant-colonel, and colonel ; it helped him fight all the 
harder (because he remembered who put it there) 
at Brandywine and Germantown and jNIonmouth ; 
and was to him a badge of honorable service as, step 
by step, he rose from soldier to statesman, from 
statesman to governor, from governor to senator, 
from senator to minister, from minister to secre- 
tary, from secretary to president. For that young 
lieutenant in the Trenton fight became President 
James Monroe, twice raised to tlie highest seat in 
the gift of the American people, in whose defence 
he fought, and for whose welfare he labored through 
a long and busy life. 

As to the measures and actions of that long and 
busy life opinions may differ, for politicians are 
biased and liistorians are not always impartial ; but 



192 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

neither politician nor historian, if he be just and 
true, can deny to James Monroe soundness of 
judgment, wisdom, prudence and forethought, 
strength of character, and purity of life. Thomas 
Jefferson said of him : " He is a man whose soul 
might be turned wrong-side outwards without dis- 
covering a blemish to the world ; " and even though 
that high opinion of his worth came from tlie man 
who was at once tutor and leader to James Monroe, 
neither friend nor foe ever questioned its truth or 
criticised its sincerity. 

The one act of his life that gives him chief 
prominence as an historic American is his bold 
enunciation of what has been ever known as the 
" Monroe doctrine " — the claim that America is 
for Americans, and that no encroachment of foreign 
powers on American soil will be contenanced or 
permitted. 

The same splendid burst of courage that sent 
young Lieut. James Monroe into the mouth of 
the Hessian cannon at Trenton, and, even though 
his arm hung shattered by a Hessian bullet, held 
him pluckily to his work until that storied sur- 
render in the apple-orchard, drew from President 
James Monroe, when Europe threatened to force 
back into vassalage the revolted American colonies 
of Spain, the courageous order, "Hands off! or 
we '11 make you," even though the combined forces 
of the so-called Holy Alliance threatened, blust- 
ered, and sneered. 



JAMES MONROE. 193 

Courage is courage, whether in soklier or states- 
man. But James Monroe came of a warlike race. 
The Monroes of Scotland figured on every battle- 
field of Europe from the time of William the Con- 
queror to Waterloo ; and the Monroes or Munroes 
of America came from that same clan of fighting 
men who, daring to resist Cromwell, were shipped 
off to America there to fight or fall on every battle- 
field of freedom from Lexington to York town, 
from Lundy's Lane to Santiago. 

Born near to the birthplace of Washington in the 
beautiful Potomac region of Northern Virginia, 
James Monroe's father was one of those Virginia 
farmers who, in 1776, protested against the Stamp 
Act and counselled resistance to British aggression. 
Young James Monroe was at his studies in the old 
college of William and Mary when the American 
Revolution broke out, and was one among the 
college volunteers composed of three professors 
and thirty students who sprang to arms and joined 
the Continental army. 

You have seen how he fought at Trenton. That 
same courage was displayed on other famous fields ; 
and when in 1782 he entered at twenty-four, by his 
election to the Virginia Legislature, upon his long 
career of public service he brought to his political 
duties the same interest, energy, and earnestness 
that had made him a courageous and successful 
soldier. Those political duties were varied and 
continuous. Beginning in 1782, he was delegate 



194 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

to the Legislature, member of the governor's coun- 
cil, delegate to three successive Congresses ; again 
member of the Virginia Legislature, member of the 
Virginia Constitutional Convention, United States 
senator, governor of Virginia, envoy to France, 
again governor, and again envoy of the United 
States to France, Spain, and England ; returning 
home, he became secretary of state and of war 
under President Madison, and succeeding his fel- 
low-Virginian in that high office, served two terms 
as president of the United States, from 1817 to 
1825 ; and then, after six years of honorable retire- 
ment, died, a poor man, at his daughter's home in 
New York City, having for forty-three years served 
the Rej)ublic faithfully and well. 

His duty as envoy to France was to arrange with 
Napoleon Bonaparte, then, in 1803, first consul 
and real dictator of France, the purchase and cession 
of Louisiana, — the whole vast stretch of western 
country between the Mississippi and the Pacific, — 
"the largest transaction in real estate which the 
world has ever known," Mr. Gilman calls it; as 
minister to England he fought the battle for the 
rights of American sailors that was only settled 
by the results of a second war with England — 
the needless and scarcely brilliant conflict known 
as the war of 1812. 

\\\ that leaderless war Monroe, then secretary of 
state, was forced, by the sudden resignation of 
General Armstrong, the secretary of war, — to 



JAMES MONROE. 195 

whose faults the captui-e and destruction of Wash- 
ington have been charged, — to act himself in the 
emergency as secretary of war ; and in that time 
of desperate strait he threw into his new duty the 
same courage and vigor that he had displayed 
nearly forty years before on the field of Trenton, 
and with' much the same result, for he wrested 
victory from apparent defeat and disaster. 

Money was needed, but none could be obtained, 
for confidence and credit were alike gone. At 
once Monroe went to the Bank of Columbia to 
appeal for funds. None could be loaned, though 
government securities were offered, at a great 
sacrifice, as collateral. 

Then said Secretary Monroe to the cashier of 
the bank : 

" If you have no confidence in the securities of 
tlie government, sir, have you confidence in my 
honor? " 

" In your word of honor as a man, Mr. Secretary, 
most certainly I have," tlie cashier replied. 

" Then, sir," said Monroe, " I ask you to accept 
my word of honor as a pledge. Give me the 
mone}^ that the government must have to meet its 
needs and I will pledge you my honor, backed by 
my private fortune, that the money shall be repaid." 

It was almost the story of Robert Morris over 
again, was it not? The example of that Revoln- 
tionaiy patriot had not been lost on this soldier of 
the Revolution. And it had a like result. His 



196 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

pledge was accepted, the money was forthcoming, 
and with that in hand he acted at once. Arms 
were sent to Jackson in New Orleans ; Washing- 
ton was put into a state of defence ; Baltimore 
was saved by the strengthening of Fort Mc Henry ; 
and Francis Scott Key was inspired by what he 
saw to write " The Star Spangled Banner." Is not 
that glory enough and repayment enough for 
sacrifice and exertion? 

But more than this. With the arms forwarded 
to New Orleans he sent also daring, determined, 
and decisive orders to Jackson ; while to the 
Southern governors he wrote, rousing them to 
action. " Hasten your militia to New Orleans," 
he said. " Do not wait for this government to arm 
them ; put all the arms you can find into their 
hands ; let every man bring his rifle with him. 
We will see you paid." 

So Jackson was strengthened ; New Orleans was 
reenforced; Pakenham and his red-coated veterans 
of Wellington's wars were hurled back in defeat 
and rout ; and, thanks to the generalship of Jack- 
son and the energy of Monroe, what had been a 
dispirited, leaderless, ineffective war ended in the 
mighty triumph and the blaze of glory that have 
given to the war of 1812 all its prestige and all 
its traditions ; and for this America may thank 
James Monroe, secretary of state and war. 

As president of the United States through eight 
years Monroe won both respect and renown. Re- 



JAMES MONROE. 197 

spect because there was in his administration so 
Uttle of party strife and feud, so little of animosity 
and opposition, that it has always been called " the 
era of good feeling ; " " an age," says one of the 
historians of the time, "■ worthy to be cherished in 
our history." It won renown because, against the 
pressure and threats of a union of certain European 
governments in behalf of Spain — whose treatment 
of Cuba was even then an eyesore to Americans — 
President James Monroe issued that startling, pa- 
triotic, determined, and American edict that men 
have ever called "the Monroe doctrine." 

We can see him on a November day in 1823, 
seated at his desk in the little room in the second 
story of the big barn-like White House at Wash- 
ington, writing his annual message. A man of 
medium height was President James Monroe, com- 
pact and firm of figure, as one who had been well 
trained to endure labor and fatigue, somewhat 
grave, even stern of fac^, yet with a pleasant smile 
to lighten his set features, plainly dressed, and sim- 
ple in his ways and manner. But on that November 
day there was nothing soft or weak in the expression 
of his face or the grasp and poise of his pen. 

For President James Monroe had been roused to 
indignation and protest by certain acts of the 
nations across the sea — especially Spain, whose 
American colonies had one by one revolted against 
her cruel sway and set up for themselves, only to 
be threatened with being forced again under Spain's 



198 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

hated control by the tyrannical union of European 
absolutism known as the Holy Alliance — ■ holy only 
in name, for it Avas a most unholy one. 

And as he thouofht over the menaeino' news that 
had come to him, and consulted the reports and 
despatches that his secretaries liad laid before him, 
the old spirit of resistance to aggression tliat had 
made him a soldier of the Revolution, joined to the 
courage that had brought him strength at Trenton 
fight, blazed up again into action. His pen rushed 
like a new charge upon the batteries of the foemen 
of the Union, and left upon the paper these strong 
and now historic sentences : 

"The citizens of the United States cherish senti- 
ments the most friendly in favor of tlie liberty and 
happiness of their fellow-men on tlie other side of 
the Atlantic. In the wars of the European powers, 
in mattei-s relating to themselves, we have never 
taken any part, nor does it comport with our policy 
to do so. It is only when* our rights are invaded 
or seriously menaced that we resent injuries or 
make preparation for our defence. With the move- 
ments in this hemisphere we are, of necessity, more 
intimately connected ; . . . and to the defence 
of our government, which has been achieved by the 
loss of so much blood and treasure, and matured 
by the wisdom of our most enlightened citizens, 
and under which we have enjojed unexampled 
felicity, this whole nation is devoted. 

" We owe it, therefore, to candor and to the ami- 



JAMES MONROE. 199 

cable relations existing between the United States 
and the allied powers to declare that we should con- 
sider any attempt on their part to extend their 
system to any portion of this hemisphere as danger- 
ous to our peace and safety. 

"" With the existing colonies or dependencies of 
any European power we have not interfered and 
shall not interfere. But with the governments who 
have declared their independence, and whose inde- 
pendence we have, in great consideration and in 
just principles, acknowledged, we could not view 
any interposition for the purpose of oppressing them, 
or controlling in any other manner their destiny, by 
any European power, in any other light than as the 
manifestation of an unfriendly disposition toward 
the United States." 

That is the "Monroe doctrine." "Keep your 
hands off, it said, in courteous but decided language, 
to European kings and princes; "America is for 
Americans." 

Some historical writei-s have sought to take the 
credit of this noble utterance from him who wrote 
and published it, finding traces of it in Washing- 
ton's farewell address and in the words of Jefferson. 
But whatever those great Americans may have said 
or however they may have felt it still remains that 
the enunciation and proclamation of non-interfer- 
ence came, at the right time, from President .fames 
Monroe, and that the declaration of independence 
from foreign powers or princes, springing from the 



200 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

great Declaration for which he had fought, found 
broader expression in his courteous but determined 
words, and has kept Europe from meddling in the 
affairs of America from his day to this. 

England has long been esteemed by prejudiced 
Americans and by the writers of history for Amer- 
ican boys and girls as simply the hereditary rival and 
foeman of the United States. It is well, therefore, 
for all Americans to recall the fact, as a better in- 
ternational spirit seems dawning with a new century, 
that it was the declaration of the INIonroe doctrine 
in 1823, plus the open objection of England, that 
defeated the plans of the so-called Holy Alliance ; 
it is well to note, also, that it was the Monroe doc- 
trine, plus the open objection of England, that in 
1898, withheld the powers of Europe from inter- 
fering in the Spanish- American war. Blood, indeed, 
is thicker than water, and the Anglo-Saxon is the 
Anglo-Saxon's kinsman in time of need. 

James Monroe died, in 1831, at the residence 
of his daughter in the city of New York ; but liis 
grave is in the beautiful Hollywood cemetery in 
Richmond, surmounted by an ugly iron cage, as 
inappropriate as it is inartistic ; for James Mon- 
roe was neither pompous, show}^, nor vain, and a 
simple slab or a plain obelisk would liave Ijetter 
suited the commemoration of tliis simple-minded, 
unobtrusive American, whose advance and success 
were due to his abilities, not to his ambition. 

The last of the Revolutionary presidents, he died. 



JAMES MONROE. 201 

like Jefferson and John Adams, on the Fourth of July 
— the day which he had helped to make, with sword 
and with pen, the chief red-letter day of tlie Republic. 

Those who find it agreeable and deem it wise to 
pick flaws in the greatest and hunt out the foibles 
and frailties of those whom the world honors and re- 
veres have — seeking what they blindly call the 
truth of history — criticised and belittled James 
Monroe. He is set down as " a second-rate man," 
treacherous to his friends, uncertain, jealous, and 
small-minded. But these seem the overstatement 
of investigators who seize upon the weaknesses 
rather than the virtues of the great, and accept the 
gossip of contemporary critics rather than the esti- 
mates of fellow-workere and friends. 

To have been the associate and friend of Wash- 
ington and Adams, Madison and Mai*shall, Jeffer- 
son and Patrick Henry, should count for more in 
a man than the biased claims of critics ; while the 
boy who fought so bravely under Washington's 
eye at Trenton, the man who saved the war of 
1812 from utter disgrace, who secured an empire for 
the Republic, and sounded a challenge and defiance 
to the tyrants and meddlers of Europe, deserved 
better of the Republic than to die in poverty and 
be underrated by posterity. Instead, the United 
States of America should liold his memory precious 
and do him homage as one of the heroes of the 
Revolution, a patriotic, unselfish, pureminded, 
brave-hearted, and high-spirited American. 



XV. 

THE STORY OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, 
OF QUINCY, 

CALLED "THE OLD MAN ELOQUENT." 



Born at Braintree, Massachusetts, July 11, 1767. 
Died at Washington, February 23, 1848. 



" He was always a man of high temper and eminently a citi- 
zen of the United States. ... He was wholly, exclusively, 
and warmly American. He had no second love; the United 
States filled his puljlic heart and monopolized his political affec- 
tions." — John Torrey Morse. 

In that part of the old town of Braintree in Mas- 
sachusetts now known as Quincy there rises tow- 
ards the Bay a green ridge known as Penn's hill. 
It has a fair outlook across the water, Boston-way, 
and on the crest of that hill on the seventeenth of 
June in the year 1775 a very remarkable small boy 
of seven, and a very remarkable woman, his mother, 
stood hand in hand looking off towards town. 

They were not up there for the view, or to 
watch the deep colorings of a rare June day ; other 
thoughts than the beauty of the season or the fair- 
ness of the outlook filled their troubled souls, for, 
over the water, came the distant boom of guns ; 

202 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 203 

across the harbor they could see the rising clouds of 
smoke and catch the gleam of flames, seven miles 
away. 

Charlestown was burning ; Bunker liill was being 
fought ; and Abigail Adams and her little son, John 
Quincy Adams, from their outlook on the crest of 
Penn's hill, where to-day a cairn and tablet com- 
memorate the event, were looking off towards the 
scene which was to play so large a part in the his- 
tory of America, and to have so direct an influence 
upon the future of that small boy of seven. 

That small boy was already an earnest young 
patriot. When Lexington roused the minute-men 
and set the men and boys to drilling on the village 
green, little John Quincy Adams shouldered a 
musket with the rest and went through the crude 
manual of arms like the "true" soldier; and, after 
Bunker hill, when this small boy's father, the 
famous John Adams, hurried away to Philadelphia 
as a delegate to the Continental Congress, John 
Quincy Adams and his mother stayed in the little 
house at Braintree (still standing, a carefully pre- 
served relic). Boston was held by British troops, 
between whom and their suburban besiegers a furi- 
ous battle might any day occur, and John and his 
mother were, as John Adams feared and fretted, 
" liable every hour of the day and of the night to 
be butchered in cold blood or taken and carried 
into Boston as hostages by any foraging or maraud- 
ing detachment." 



204 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But nothing of the sort happened. The British 
were too busy looking after their own safety and 
supplies in beleaguered Boston to annoy the wife 
and child even of that stout and most audacious 
malcontent, John Adams, whom King George, as 
you know, regarded as the chief of his American 
rebels. 

And when " beleaguered Boston " became Yankee 
Boston once more, and redcoat and Tory had sailed 
away for Halifax, then this small Braintree boy 
acted as messenger, post-rider, or mail-carrier be- 
tween the farm and the town, in order that Mis- 
tress Abigail Adams, his mother, might have Bos- 
ton's very latest news from camp and Congress. 

I have said he was a remarkable boy, and so he 
surely was. I know of none among historic Amer- 
icans whose boyhood was more remarkable. For 
at seven he drilled with the Continental troops ; at 
nine he was post-rider to Boston, and his mother's 
main reliance ; at ten he sailed to Europe with his 
famous father, John Adams, commissioner to 
France ; at eleven he began a wonderful journal 
that continued for seventy years ; at twelve he went 
to school in Holland ; at thirteen he went to Russia 
as private secretary to Mr. Dana, the American 
envoy ; at fifteen he was assistant secretary to those 
three famous Americans in France — Franklin, 
Jefferson, and Adams — who were negotiating the 
treaty of alliance ; and at eighteen he might have 
accompanied his distinguished father across the 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 205 

Channel as secretary to the minister to England. 
But this wise and brave young man was so wise 
and brave that he turned his back on what seemed 
to him a most tempting opportunity, and decided to 
go back to New England rather than cross over to 
Old England, because, he said, he did not intend 
to loiter away his precious time in Europe, and 
shun going home until he was forced to it. 

" With an ordinary share of common sense which 
I hope I enjoy," this remarkable boy declared, " at 
least in America T can live independent and free ! 
And rather than live otherwise I would wish to die 
before the time when I shall be left at my own dis- 
cretion." 

Spoken like a true and sensible young Ameri- 
can, was it not ? And so back he went, " to become 
a boy again," and, by studying hard, he was able to 
enter the junior class at Harvard College, and to 
graduate at twenty, liigli up in his class. 

That I call being a remarkable boy. Of coui-se, 
young John Quincy Adams did not have what most 
boys regard as much " fun," but then, John Quincy 
Adams was not that kind of a boy. He was sober 
and sensible ; not a prig, but precocious ; " morally 
never either a child or a lad," one of his biographers 
declares, " and at an age when most young people 
simply win love or cause annoyance, he was prefer- 
ring wisdom to mischief, and actually in his earliest 
years was attracting a certain respect." 

I must confess that, for myself, I prefer a real, 



206 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

eveiy-day boy to a marvel. But then, exceptions, 
like young John Quincy Adams, make the rule all 
the stronger and incite, by their example, the real, 
every-day boys to do the very best they can. 

Sometimes boys who are marvels, or what we call 
precocious, do not bear out their record for ability 
when they become men. But John Quincy Adams 
was remarkable as boy and man — even until lie 
died in harness at eighty-one. Let me give you the 
list of his achievements as an historic American. 

At twenty-three he was admitted to the bar and 
became a successful lawyer ; at twenty-five he was 
writing anonymous public papers in reply to the 
able but erratic Tom Paine, so strong and effective 
that they were credited to his father, John Adams ; 
at twenty-seven he was sent as United States 
minister to Holland ; at thirty he was minister to 
Prussia ; at thirty-five he was a State senator in the 
Massachusetts Legislature ; at thirty-six United 
States senator from ]\Lassachusetts ; at thirty-nine 
he was a professor in Harvard College ; at forty- 
two lie was United States minister to Russia ; and 
at forty-eight he was made American minister to 
England. He was secretary of state at fifty, and 
again at fifty-four ; at fifty-seven he was elected 
president of the United States. And then, most 
remarkable of all in this remarkable record, after 
filling so many high ofiices he went back to Con- 
gress, as representative from Massachusetts, at the 
age of sixty-four, and continued there until his 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 207 

death at eighty-one, serving so faitlif ully, valiantly, 
and nobly that, as Mr. Morse says, he earned " in 
his old age a noble fame and distinction far tran- 
scending any achievement of his youth and middle 
age, and attained the highest pinnacle of his fame 
after he had left the greatest office of the govern- 
ment ; " for, as I have told you, he died in harness at 
eighty-one — the champion of liberty and the right 
of free speech. 

That is a great record, is it not? And yet, 
what do you suppose this worthy old American 
said of himself at eighty years ? " My whole life 
has been a succession of disappointments. I can 
scarcely recollect a single instance of success, in 
anything that I ever undertook." 

Whether this was the bitterness of temporary 
defeat or the restlessness of an ever-present ambi- 
tion I am unable to decide. The last, certainly, 
had always been a part of his character; for, at 
twenty-five, that tell-tale diary of his records his 
impatience at the " state of useless and disgraceful 
insignificancy " in which he felt himself to be living 
while building up a practice as a successful young 
Boston lawyer, and of which he declares, "-I still find 
myself as obscure, as unknown to the world, as the 
most indolent or the most stupid of human beings." 

I suspect that John Quincy Adams, equally in 
youth and old age, was just a bit morbid, decidedly 
sensitive, and greatly averse to taking a back seat, 
as the saying is. 



208 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But you have seen, from what Mr. Morse says, 
that even when John Quincy Adams took what 
seemed to be a hack seat, and from being president 
of the United States dropped back into the "• com- 
paratively humble position " of congressman, he 
found a duty to do and did it in such a way as to 
add lustre and glory to his whole career. 

That closing chapter in this old man's life seems 
to me the most remarkable in the whole remarkable 
story of John Quincy Adams, sixth president of 
the United States, representative in Congress from 
the State of Massachusetts. 

It is well to know at the outset that John 
Quincy Adams did not consider that in becoming 
a congressman he had taken a step downward 
or backward. "No one," he replied to a friend 
who suggested such a thing, " could be degraded 
by serving the people as a representative in Con- 
gress. Nor in my opinion would an ex-President 
of the United States be degraded by serving as a 
selectman of his town, if elected thereto l)y the 
people." That sounds, does it not, as if it might 
have come from the lips of that patriotic old kins- 
man of his, Samuel Adams, of Boston, "• the trib- 
une of the people," whose story I have told you ? 
It would be well for America to-day if our best 
men would regard their duty as Americans in this 
exalted fashion. 

Upon the floor of the old House of Representa- 
tives — what is now Statuary hall in the com- 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 209 

pleted Capitol at Washington — John Quincy 
Adams fought for sixteen years what seemed a 
losing but was really a winning fight, as the earliest 
and stoutest champion of anti-slavery in the Amer- 
ican Congress. It was, indeed, his burning words 
in behalf of freedom, and what was known as " the 
right of petition," that gave him his popular title, 
" the Old Man Eloquent." • 

This " right of petition " was the right of any 
American who felt that he had a grievance to 
present a petition to Congress asking for attention, 
investigation, or redress. Now, in John Quincy 
Adams's day the subject of slavery was becoming 
troublesome in free America. The South felt that 
slavery was a commercial necessity; thoughtful 
people in the North were awaking to the fact that 
slavery in a free Republic was Wrong. 

Public sentiment grew slowly; but there were 
certain earnest champions of " free soil, free speech, 
free labor, and free men," and John Quincy Adams 
was the spokesman in Congress for these Ameri- 
cans. 

" Duty is ours ; results are God's," he said, and 
therefore labored for anti-slavery ; and one way in 
which he worked was to present to Congress the 
petitions from those Americans — black as well as 
white — who desired the abolition of slavery. 

Such action, of course, angered the Southern 
members and they sought to stop this old slavery 
hater from working his will. So they endeavored 



210 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

to create what was called a " gag law," which, prac- 
tically, denied the right of petition when such peti- 
tion had any reference to slavery. 

It was manifestly an unjust laAV, and you may be 
sure that John Quincy Adams fought it " tooth and 
nail." 

He fought it alone and single-handed. To carry 
out his principles he made it a point to present 
to Congress every petition that was handed him — 
even one praying for his own expulsion from Con- 
gress as a nuisance ! That was loyalty to a prin- 
ciple, was it not? 

When the majority in Congress forced their " gag 
law" through, Adams protested. 

" I hold it," he said, " to be a direct violation of 
the Constitution of the United States, the rules of 
the House, and my constituents." 

They tried to shout him down, to silence him, 
to expel him, but the old fighter held his 
ground. 

" Sir," he said to the Speaker of the House, one 
day, after years of this struggle for principle, " it 
is well known that from the time I entered this 
House, down to the present day, I have felt it a 
sacred duty to present any petition couched in 
respectful language, from any citizen of the United 
States, be its object what it may. ... I adhere 
to the right of petition. It belongs to all ; and so 
far from refusing to present a petition because it 
might come from those low in the estimation of the 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 211 

world, it would be an additional incentive, if such 
an incentive were wanting." 

For eight years, from 1836 to 1844, John Quincy 
Adams, who believed in fair play, fought the " gag 
law," which was clearly not fair play. At last, on 
the third of December, 1844, the majorities against 
him, which, thanks to his bold and unchanging 
stand, had been growing smaller and smaller, 
changed to a majority of twenty-eight in his favor, 
and the " Old Man Eloquent " had won. The 
"gag law" was rescinded. 

" Blessed, forever blessed be the name of God ! " 
wrote the old conqueror who had fought for justice 
and had won. 

Never, since that day, has the right of petition 
been questioned in the Congress of the United 
States. 

It was while engaged in this bitter fight that 
John Quincy Adams made a statement that yeai-s 
after gave to Abraham Lincoln the ground where- 
on to base his greatest document, the Emancipation 
Proclamation. 

It was in the year 1842 that in the course of a 
speech regarding a war with Mexico he pronounced 
this opinion : " From the instant that your slave- 
liolding States become the theatre of war — civil, 
servile, or foreign — from that instant the war 
powers of the Constitution extend to interference 
with the institution of slavery in every way in 
which it can be interfered with." . . . 



212 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

And, later, he repeated this decision and said 
emphatically : " Whether the war be servile, civil, 
or foreign, I lay this down as the law of nations : 
When a country is invaded and two hostile armies 
are set in martial array, so far from its being true 
that the States where slavery exists have the ex- 
clusive management of the subject, not only the 
president of the United States, but the commander 
of the army, has the power to order the universal 
"emancipation of the slaves." 

Abraham Lincoln was a member of Congress 
when the term of John Quincy Adams was draw- 
ing to a close. This opinion of the old slavery 
fighter must have been known to the young man 
who was to slay the dragon against which John 
Quincy Adams waged such relentless war; and 
that opinion, treasured in a mind that never forgot 
anything, must have been in his thoughts when, at 
a critical moment, he cut the Gordian knot and 
solved the problem of rebellion by emancipating, 
as president and commander-in-chief, the slaves 
throughout the Ignited States. 

The term of John Quincy Adams did indeed 
draw to a close in a dramatic manner. 

It was the twenty-fii*st of February, 1848. The 
old man, who, two years before, had been stricken 
by paralysis, still stuck to his post, and was punctu- 
ally at his seat in the House of Representatives. It 
was half-past one in the afternoon. Some one had 
made a motion ; the Speaker was about to put the 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 213 

question, when there was a sudden stir upon the 
floor. Mr. Adams rose as if to " catch the Speaker's 
eye " for the purpose of speaking on the question. 
But he did not speak. Instead, he swayed and 
fell, while those about him cried out to the Speaker, 
" Stop ! Stop ! — Mr. Adams ! Something is the 
matter with Mr. Adams ! " 

There was indeed. Death had stricken the old 
warrior for right on the very spot where so many of 
his battles had been fought. He was taken to the 
Speaker's room, but nothing could be done for him. 

" This is the last of earth ! " he said. " I am 
content ! " and two days afterwards, still i^esting in 
the Speaker's room, he died, "in the very tracks in 
which he had so often stood erect and unconquer- 
able, taking and dealing so many mighty blows." 

In the floor of Statuary hall — in 1848 the 
chamber of the House of Representatives — visitors 
to-day are shown a metal circle set in the stones. 
" John Quincy Adams. Here," it says. It marks 
the spot where stood the desk at which the old 
hero sat when thus stricken with death. He 
had answered " Here " from that desk for many 
years, and it was eminently fitting that, on the field 
of his battles, in the midst of his labors, actually 
" in harness," the patriot should have fallen on his 
shield. 

His life had been a long and stormy one. He 
was the first of what we may call " the great inde- 
pendents," and, like all men who seek to act inde- 



214 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

pendently, he made enemies, pleasing neither friend 
nor foe. With high ideals liinLself he tried the 
world by those ideals, and finding most men lack- 
ing criticised all men accordingly. Neither his 
associates nor his rivals could appreciate his worth 
because of his rigid judgment, nor could they 
acknowledge his uprightness because of his bitter 
tongue. 

To be thus constituted was, of couree, to be him- 
self lacking in some things — courtesy, charity, 
tact, and friendliness. Yet, in his famil}- he was 
dearly loved, and by those who knew him best he 
was most highly regarded. Above all, he was 
honest, courageous, conscientious, cool-headed, per- 
sistent, of remarkable intelligence and remarkable 
ability. 

In his lifetime he was the leader of two great 
political parties, honored by each and hated by each 
in turn, as he first led and then deserted them. 
But his desertion was not that of the renegade ; it 
was that of the reformer who sees with clearer vision 
than his fellows the value of a principle rather than 
the demands of a j^arty. 

Misunderetood Avhile he lived, insulted, mis- 
judged, and persecuted, he was a valiant fighter 
and gave up only with death ; but he had but few 
friends, and indeed was, as one of his biographers 
declares, " one of the most lonely and desolate of 
the great men of history." 

He was the son of a srreat father and a remark- 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 215 

able mother, the member of a family which in three 
generations — father, son, and grandson — gave to 
the Republic two presidents, a vice-president, a 
secretary of state, a senator, three members of 
Congress, three ministers to England, and envoys 
to France, Spain, Holland, and Russia. 

To-day, in the stone temple of Quincy, may be 
seen the tombs of two presidents, — father and son, 
— John Adams and John Quincy Adams, of 
Quincy ; in the same town stand the birthplaces 
and the homes of each. But, more lasting still, 
the memories of these men endure as valiant, un- 
wavering, devoted, and consecrated patriots in the 
early days of the great Republic. 

As we close this brief story of a long life — the 
life of one who heard the guns of Bunker hill and 
spoke the word that led on to the furled flags of 
Appomattox — it may be well, as a new phase 
of progress beckons the Republic on, to read 
the words of John Quincy Adams, uttered nearly 
eighty years ago, — words of- wisdom, of warning 
and of weight : " America, in the assembly of 
nations, since her admission among them has 
invariably, though often fruitlessly, held forth to 
them the hand of honest friendship, of equal 
freedom, of generous reciprocity. . . . She has 
abstained from interference in the concerns of 
others, even when the conflict has been for prin- 
ciples to which she clings, as to the last vital drop 
that visits the heart. . . . Wherever the standard 



216 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of freedom and independence has been or shall be 
unfurled, there will her heart, her benedictions and 
her prayers be. But she goes not abroad in search 
of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to 
the freedom and independence of all. She is the 
champion and vindicator only of her own. She 
will recommend the general cause, by the counte- 
nance of her voice and the benignant sympathy of 
her example. She well knows that by once en- 
listing under other banners than her own, were 
they even the banners of foreign independence, she 
would involve herself, beyond the power of extri- 
cation, in all the wars of interest and intrigue, of in- 
dividual avarice, envy, and ambition, which assume 
the colors and usurp the standard of freedom. 
The fundamental maxims of her policy would in- 
sensibly change from liberty to force. The front-, 
let upon her brows would no longer beam with the 
ineffable splendor of freedom and independence; 
but in its stead would soon be substituted an im- 
perial diadem, fiashii>g" in false and tarnished lustre 
the murky radiance of dominion and power. She 
misfht become the dictatress of the world ; she 
would no longer be the ruler of her own spirit." 

" New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good 
uncouth ; 

They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast 
of Truth ; 

Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pil- 
grims be, 



JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 217 

Launch our Mayflower and steer boldly through the desperate 

winter sea, 
Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted 

key." 

So wrote Lowell, America's strongest poet. How, 
in the light of the new duties and new destinies 
that seem forming for America shall the boys and 
girls of to-day, as the time comes for them to take 
up the affairs of the Republic, read the warning and 
wisdom of that great independent — Jolin Quincy 
Adams, American ? 



XVI. 

THE STORY OF ELI WHITNEY, OF 
NEW HAVEN, 

KKOWN AS " THE INVENTOR OF THE COTTON 
GIN." 



Born at Westborough, Massachusetts, December 8, 1765. 
Died at New Haven, Connecticut, January 8, 1825. 



" What Peter the Great did to make Russia dominant, Eli 
Whitney, inventor of the cotton gin, has more than equalled in 
its relation to the power and progress of the United States." — 
Thomas Bahington Macanlay. 

This is the story of ingenuity repaid by ingrati- 
tude. It is not a pleasing story, from such a stand- 
point, for it is never agreeable to chronicle the 
injustice or shortcomings of men. And yet, as 
every story of failure or discouragement may be 
made the forerunner of progress or success it is well 
to read again the story of Eli Whitney, the New 
England boy who more than all other Americans 
may be charged with an unconscious responsibility 
for the Civil war and therefore for the " New South." 

There gathered one day, years ago, a party of dis- 
tinguished guests at the beautiful plantation of 
General Greene at ^Mulberry Grove on the broad 

218 



ELI WHITNEY. 219 

Savannah river. Savannah itself, Georgia's chief 
city, was but a few miles away, and these visitors — 
planters and military men — had come to Mulberry 
Grove to pay their respects to Madam Greene, the 
widow of Georgia's beloved defender. General 
Nathaniel Greene, formerly of Rhode Island. 

In that year of 1793 Nathaniel Greene was no 
longer alive. Removing in 1785 to the fine estate 
of Mulberry Grove, presented to him by the State 
of Georgia in grateful recognition of his gallant de- 
fence of her soil in the war of the Revolution, General 
Greene had, in 1786, died suddenly of sunstroke, and 
his body lay in an unmarked vault in quaint old 
Broad-street cemetery. But his widow still kept 
open house with gracious hospitality in the big 
mansion amid the live oaks and magnolias of Mul- 
berry Grove. 

Conversation among the visitors turned naturally 
on the crops, and as in that year of grace 1793 the 
agricultural conditions of Georgia were far from 
flourishing the talk was not particularly cheering. 
All agreed, however, that the cotton crop might be 
made remunerative and satisfactory if it did not 
cost so much in labor and time to prepare it for the 
market. The rice lands along the coast, they ad- 
mitted, were excellent and promising, but no real 
prosperity could be hoped for Georgia unless there 
were some paying crops that could be harvested 
from the far-stretching uplands and dry soil back 
of the rice swamps. 



220 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" They grow good cotton, excellent cotton," one 
planter declared, " but where is the use in grow- 
ing cotton crops for sale, when only a pound of 
green seed-cotton can be made marketable by one 
man's work in a day. It don't pay for his keep. 
I 'm almost inclined to join the abolition movement 
that seems to be growing in the South and give up 
keeping negroes. Every slave I own is money out 
of my pocket, especially if I go on raising seed- 
cotton." 

The others agreed with him, though they could 
not well see how they could throw off the respon- 
sibility of the negro by simply making him free. 

" We should have to support him even if we 
did free him," another planter declared. " For he 
has nothing to live on, and unless we keep him on 
our hands he will die or become a menace. Better 
keep him at cleaning seed-cotton even if the few 
cents we get for the pound a day he cleans is a 
dead loss. But how it would change things here 
in Georgia and the whole South if we had some- 
thing decent to separate the cotton and the seed ! " 

" Well, then, why don't you go to work and get 
up something that will do it, gentlemen?" ex- 
claimed Madam Greene, with true Rhode Island 
thrift. " Your shiftless negro folks throw away or 
spoil enough to keep them in luxury. Put on 
your thinking-caps and get up something that will 
do the work." 

" Ah, madam, that 's easier said than done ! " 



ELI WHITNEY. 221 

one of her guests replied. " Even your good hus- 
band, the general, though he cleaned the redcoats 
out of Georgia, couldn't clean the seeds from the 
cotton. I remember that was one of the chief 
drawbacks he found in farming here. You are 
ready and quick, madam, and generous too ; can't 
you give us some idea ? " 

" No, I guess I can't," replied the Yankee 
woman promptly. " But here, I '11 tell you what — 
just you apply to my young friend yonder, Mr. 
Whitney, from the North. He can make any- 
thing. Why, see here " — and she rose impul- 
sively and beckoned her guests to her sewing- 
room — " see what he fixed up for me the other day. 
My tambour frame was all out of kilter ; I could n't 
embroider at all with it, because it pulled and tore 
the threads so badly. Mr. Whitney noticed this, 
borrowed the frame, took it out on the porch, tink- 
ered with it a little, and there! see what he has 
done : just made the frame as good as new, so that 
now it works beautifully. We think here it 's a 
wonderful piece of ingenuity. So I 'm certain sure 
Mr. Whitney could put on his thinking-cap over 
this cotton-cleaning business to some good advan- 
tage." 

" How is it, Mr. Whitney? " cried one of the vis- 
iting planters, seizing the young Northerner by the 
arm. " Can you bear out Madam Greene's recom- 
mendation ? Can't you think up something to help 
us?" 



222 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" Madam Greene has too exalted an opinion of 
my knowledge of mechanics," the young school- 
master replied. " If you '11 wait long enough until 
I get out my law shingle here I may quote opinions 
or win law cases for you ; but I 'm not really much 
on mechanism ; and as for cleaning cotton-seed, 
why, gentlemen, I should n't know it if I saw it ! 
I don't think I ever saw cotton or cotton-seed in 
my life." 

" We '11 remedy that, Whitney," cried his new 
acquaintance. " Here, Miller, can't you show Mr. 
Whitney some cotton-seed ? " 

" Altogether too much of it for my patience," 
laughed Mr. Phineas Miller, a neighbor of Madam 
Greene's. " Come over to my place to-morrow, Mr. 
Whitney, and I '11 put you knee-deep into the tan- 
talizing stuff." 

So, next day, young Whitney went to Mr. ]\Iil- 
ler's place. He studied the cotton-seed and down ; 
he saw the slow, crude way of separating the seed 
from the wool; then he put on his thinking-cap 
and, with the inspiration of an idea, accepted the 
room in Mr. Miller's house, offered him as a work- 
shop, and began to solve the problem. 

How well and how speedily he solved it the 
world knows to-day, for it is reaping the benefit of 
his inventive faculty. He was compelled to make 
his own tools and draw his own wire, for he could 
not find what he desired even in Savannah ; but he 
worked steadily on, admitting no one to the privacy 



ELI WHITNEY. 223 

of his work-rooin excepting Mr. Miller and Madam 
Greene, and at last, in the winter of 1793, he was 
able to cry, '■'•Eureka!'" and to know that he had 
thought out and worked out that surprising but 
simple invention known as the " cotton gin." 

" Gin " is but a contraction of the word " engine." 
The cotton gin means simply an engine, machine, or 
device for separating the seeds from the cotton. 
It is a combination of cylinders, teeth, and brushes 
that tear the cotton from the seeds as the wool 
is put into the hopper, sweep it off with brushes, 
and hold the seeds by themselves where they can- 
not follow the light wool through the separating 
bars. The gin as invented by Whitney was after- 
wards improved and developed, but the underlying 
principle is still the same. Even in its original 
form it completely revolutionized the cotton indus- 
try ; for, with Whitney's cotton gin, one man could 
clean in a single day five thousand pounds of 
cotton where before he could clean but one. 

You may be sure young Whitney was very proud 
of his success when he exhibited to a select number 
of Madam Greene's planter friends the result of his 
experiments. The general's widow was quite as de- 
lighted herself. And when they saw how the young 
inventor had crowded into a single day's output 
what had formerly been the labor of months the 
astonishment of those Georgia planters was as 
great as their enthusiasm ; for the}' realized that 
here was a machine that miofht turn their cotton 



224 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

into a staple, and make it the wealth and power 
of the South. 

Other people understood this, too ; and when, for 
fear of infringements, Whitney refused to exhilut 
the gin or to make his invention public, certain law- 
less and unprincipled men broke into the building 
in which Whitney was experimenting with his in- 
vention, and carrying off the machine, studied and 
copied it, and put together similar gins on tlie same 
pattern, before Whitney had been able to fully pro- 
tect himself by patenting his invention. 

Then began a long and bitter fight for the right 
of invention and possession which well-nigh ruined 
the inventor and his friend and partner, Phineas 
Miller. Eli Whitney went Xorth and started a shop 
in New Haven for the manufacture of his cotton 
gin; but so many rival machines sj^rang up, so 
many lawsuits and fights against infringement fol- 
lowed, and so many discouragements and disasters 
were encountered, that business failure faced the 
partners continually. At last the young manufact- 
urere were well-nigh disheartened, and Wlntney 
declared that, unless some relief were obtained, it 
would be impossible for him to struggle against his 
embarrassments much longer. 

The merchants and respectable manufacturers 
and dealers preferred Whitney's gin to those of his 
unscrupulous imitators, and his invention might 
have brought him success and wealth had not the in- 
fringements and stealings been so numerous as to 



ELI WHITNEY. 225 

almost force his gin from tlie market. Suits were de- 
cided against him by juries in league with rival in- 
ventors, he could not sell the right to use the machine 
when others could be obtained without the extra 
cost of these royalties, and those who had agreed to 
pay for such rights refused to do so when collection 
day came round. 

Application for relief was made to the Legisla- 
tures of the States which profited by the invention, 
and Whitney arranged to sell the State rights to 
South Carolina. But, within a year after, the 
Legislature of that State annulled the contract and 
sued for the money already paid, while the other 
cotton States with which he had made contracts 
did the same, and Whitney and Miller were very 
nearly ruined. 

Miller, in 1803, broke down under his disap- 
pointments and died, leaving Whitney to fight 
alone the battle against ingratitude and injustice. 
What money the worried inventor could make he 
was forced to spend in lawsuits for trespass, and 
when in 1812 he applied for a renewal of his 
patent the Southern influence was found to be so 
great as to break down his case, and his application 
was rejected. Years of labor, sacrifice, struggle, 
and loss were thrown away and the benefits he 
should have derived from his labor were absorbed 
or seized by othere. It was as sad a tale of injus- 
tice, ingratitude, and greed as can be found in the 
long and tragic story of invention. Every one ac- 



226 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

knowledged the debt that the cotton States owed to 
Eli Whitney, but no one was ready to assume or 
repay it, and his whole life was a struggle against 
poverty and dishonesty in the hope of securing a 
part of what was clearly his right. Only the for- 
tunate obtaining of a contract to manufacture fire- 
arms for the government in the year 1798 saved him 
from absolute failure and Avant, and made the last 
years of his life successful and comfortable- 
He died in New Haven on the eighth of January, 
1825, and there his monument may be seen to-day, 
bearing this inscription: ''Eli Whitney, the 
inventor of the cotton gin. — Of useful science and 
arts the efficient patron and improver. — In the 
social relations of life a model of excellence. — While 
private affection weeps at his tomb, his country 
honors his memory." 

Born in Massachusetts and educated at Yale 
College, he had always what is called " an inven- 
tive turn of mind ; " the making of fiddles, Avatches, 
knives, and nails, canes, pins, and repair-work were 
equally attractive to his tastes as inventor and 
manufacturer from his boyhood on his father's 
farm to his life at college. He drifted South, after 
his graduation, with the design of teaching, tutor- 
ing, or practising law, and it was while he was yet 
unsettled in his choice that the opportunity came 
to him, at Madam Greene's, to think out the 
cotton gin. 

Whether that was a " happy thought " or not is 



ELI WHITNEY. 227 

an open question. To him, at least, it brought 
little else than vexation, privation, and loss. But 
it brought hira fame, it brought him experience, it 
brought him the appropriate occupation for a 
wonderfully inventive mind, and as he had the 
good sense and wise judgment to drop his burden 
when at last it became more than he could bear, 
and to take up a line of work in which his enter- 
prise and mechanical ability alike found success- 
ful return, it may be that his harsh experience 
strengthened and elevated his character, as it cer- 
tainly did make his patience and persistence an 
eloquent example. 

But apart from the personal phase of the matter 
it is beyond question that the invention of the 
cotton gin by Eli Whitney completely changed the 
conditions of life in the South and influenced 
the whole future of the United States. 

Robert Fulton declared that Arkwriffht and 
Watt, the Englishmen, and Eli Whitney, the 
American, were the three men who did the most 
for mankind of any of their contemporaries." And 
it is certain that Eli Whitney's cotton gin had an 
incalculable influence upon the growth and progress 
of the United States, adding hundreds of millions 
of dollars to its wealth, while, alas ! it complicated 
the slavery problem beyond the hope of peaceable 
solution. 

As to the effect of Whitney's invention upon the 
Southern cotton-growing States Judge Johnson, a 



228 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Southern judge and planter, declared that "the 
whole interior of the Southern States was languish- 
ing, and its inhabitants emigrating for want of 
some object to engage their attention and employ 
their industry', when the invention of the cotton 
gin at once opened views to them which set the 
whole country in active motion. From childhood to 
age," he declared, " it has presented to us a lucrative 
employment. Our debts have been paid off, our 
capital has increased, and our lands trebled them- 
selves in value. We cannot express the weight of 
the obligation which the country owes to this inven- 
tion. The extent of it cannot now be seen. . . . 
Our sister States also participate in its benefits, for, 
besides affording the raw material for their manu- 
factures, the bulkiness and quantity of the article 
afford a valuable employment for their shipping." 
It would seem that the man who brought such 
prosperity and wealth to the nation should have 
been recognized and rewarded by it. Instead, his 
only winnings were ingratitude and injustice, his 
only harvest was lawsuit and infringement. The 
exports of cotton from the United States rose 
because of Whitney's cotton gin from 189,000 
pounds in 1791 to 21,000,000 pounds in 1801, and 
in 1801 were double even this. In the first sixty 
years of the cotton gin this export increased from 
10,000 bales to over 4,000,000, while the actual 
annual harvest of the cotton yield amounted to 
millions of bales more. 



ELI WHITNEY. 229 

But time works its own revenges. Because of 
this tremendous increase in the cotton industry 
slave labor became a commercial demand in the 
South, where, before the cotton gin, it had been 
simply a sentimental and tolerated inconvenience. 
The unpaid labor of slaves increased the profits 
from the cotton harvested and ginned, and those 
in the South who, following the opinions of 
Jefferson and Washington, had deemed slavery 
an evil in a free Republic and one that was 
doomed to speedy abatement, now saw in it a 
positive good to the land, upon the perpetua- 
tion of which depended the growth, the pros- 
perity, and even the very existence of the cotton 
States. 

So through the years the iDCCuliar " system " 
fastened itself firmer and more insistently upon the 
South. For it Calhoun fought, for it Clay com- 
promised and Webster temporized, while against 
it strove John Quincy Adams and all the brave 
foemen of the cankerous evil, from his day to that 
of Lincoln the emancipator. 

That idolatrous devotion to a crime for com- 
mercial ends finally plunged the South into war, 
defeat, and distress, and Eli Whitney was avenged. 
Ingratitude had worked its own overthrow. 

To-day the cotton industry of America is greater 
than ever before. Better still, the introduction of 
free labor into its methods is leading the South 
steadily forward to a prosperity and independence 



230 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

greater than it ever enjoyed or ever could have 
enjoyed under the old system. 

For all these changes Eli Whitney and his 
wonderful cotton gin are largely responsible, and 
the story which began in creative ingenuity, ran 
its evil course through injustice, and drenched its 
pages in the blood of civil war, ends in regenera- 
tion, progress, and prosperity. So Eli Whitney, 
the victim of his own inventive ability, really 
builded better than lie knew ; for he was a factoi' 
in the remaking of the Republic. 



XVII. 

THE STORY OF ANDREW JACKSON, OF 
THE HERMITAGE, 

CALLED "OLD HICKORY." 



Born at the WaxTiaw Settlement, North Carolina, March 15, 1767. 
Died at the Hermitage, Tennessee, June 8, 1845. 



"One. of the most remarkable Aien America has produced, 
an-d one admirably fitted to ride the storm and direct the forces 
of the new democracy. ... A typical man of the people, 
Andrew Jackson proved himself to be a born leader of men in 
time of stress." — Edward Channing. 

This is a story of photographs. If only it could 
have a phonographic attachment, so that you could 
both see and hear tlie man whom I wish to show 
you, — " the most wilful, the most despotic, the 
most interesting of all our presidents," as one of the 
latest of American historians denominates Andrew 
Jackson, of Tennessee, — the vividness, as well as 
the interest, would be increased. For the Jackson 
voice was a part of the Jackson character. 

But if we can reproduce his manner, we may 
imagine the voice. The first picture is that of a 
boy of the hills. 

In a low, rough house of logs, among the Caro- 

231 



232 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Una hills, where the red soil of the Waxhaw Settle- 
ment seemed almost typical of the blood and ruin 
that had fallen upon all that region in the merciless 
work of " Tarleton's quarter," a boy, hot with anger, 
stands openly defying his captor. He is a tall, raw- 
boned, red-haired, freckled-faced lad of fourteen, 
big for his years ; perhaps, with the prophecy in his 
lean but sinewy form of the future hardy and 
athletic frontiersman of that rough and rolling hill- 
country of the Carolinas. The man is a British 
officer, haughty, arrogant, overbearing, a t3'pe of 
that conquering race in whom contact with the 
conquered always bred contempt, while superiority 
of intelligence and refinement expressed itself in 
cruelty rather than in courtesy. 

In this case the brutalizing spirit of conquest 
was very evident. As one who had part in the 
massacre at the Waxhaw Settlements, and the 
slaughter at Hanging Rock, this English gentleman 
had been hardened into the pitiless soldier and the 
contemptuous master. 

" These peasants," he declared, referring to the 
conquered colonists of the Carolina highlands, 
" have no rights. They must be taught their place 
as low-bred scum and dirty traitors. Here, boy ! 
clean this beastly red mud of yours from my boots. 
And hark ye, do it quick! I 'm in haste." 

And he flung the long military boots, well be- 
smeared with the red Waxhaw clay, at the boy 
whom the fortunes of war, or, rather, the tyranny of 



ANDREW JACKSON. 233 

treachery, had made a captive to the hated troopers 
of Tarleton. 

But though captive this boy of fourteen was by 
no means cowed. 

" Clean your own boots ! I 'm no nigger slave," 
he cried passionately. "I am a prisoner of war. 
Because you 've got us down, you need n't think 
you can jump on us ; " and, stung to anger by the 
British officer's demand, he kicked the boots back 
so vindictively that they caromed on the English- 
man's pet corns and literally made him " hopping 
mad." 

He whipped out his sword and springing upon 
his plucky and defiant captive struck viciously at 
the boy, unmindful of consequences or of that 
" fair play " which is so thoroughly an English trait. 
But surprise and anger had killed all courtesy in 
the big dragoon officer. 

" You miserable little rebel ! You cur ! You 
blackguard ! " he shouted. " How dare you ? Take 
that for your impudence — and that — and that ! " 

Thwack ! thwack ! the British sword came down 
upon the Carolina boy with lunge and cut. It laid 
the supple wrist open to the bone ; under the shock 
of thick red hair it left a cut from which streamed 
the still redder blood. 

Then the sense of unfairness which had led him 
to strike down an unarmed boy roused the English- 
man's drowsy conscience, and he regretted what he 
had done. 



234 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" It was your own fault," was all lie said, how- 
ever, as he kicked the muddy boots from his path, 
and left their cleaning to his servant. So, after 
all, the big dragoon did not have his way. The 
boy from the Waxhaws did not clean those boots. 

But the scars made by the sword of the brutal 
British officer remained with the boy through all his 
long and active life, and as he never forgot so he 
never forgave that contemptuous and cruel attack, 
and he took good payment for it from England's 
arrogant power, all in good time, and with interest. 
For that fourteen-year-old Carolina boy was Andrew 
Jackson. 

Born in poverty, cradled in adversity, reared in 
ignorance, but with that strong and sturdy Scotch- 
Irish blood running in his veins, — that blood that 
has given so much in brain and sinew to America, 
— Andrew Jackson never knew a father, and saw a 
mother and brothers die as the victims of British 
cruelty and neglect. Left thus, without home or 
family at fifteen, — an orphan of the Revolution, — 
it is not to be wondered at that a hatred of all things 
British became almost a part of the reckless, mis- 
chievous, resolute, sturdy, and vindictive boy who, 
somehow, raised himself from ignorance to intelli- 
gence, migrated into the new lands beyond the 
mountains, and "grew up with the country" in 
Tennessee. Lawyer, farmer, and merchant, public 
prosecutor, district attorney, member of Congress, 
senator, judge, — thus he rose to eminence in the 



ANDREW JACKSON. 235 

new State of Tennessee, where he was respected as 
able, fearless, honest, and, above all, ready to give 
and take the blow which in all new sections has 
ever been the claim to popularity and standing. 

Such a man soon became an acknowledged leader, 
not only in his own State and neighborhood, but in 
the whole section ; so, when war with Great Britain 
broke out in 1812, Andrew Jackson, major-general 
of Tennessee's volunteer militia, became major-gen- 
eral and commander of the forces of the United 
States in the Southwest. 

These forces were not very great, but Andrew 
Jackson advanced to the command by vigorous 
measures and signal victories which overthrew and 
completely shattered the Indian rising of 1814, 
known as the Creek war, and broke the combined 
Spanish and British power in Florida. He never 
neglected an opportunity to " chastise " the British 
power by which his boyhood had been made miser- 
able, and when, at last, he found himself face to 
face, in January, 1815, with the British army before 
New Orleans he felt that his day of reckoning was 
at hand, and determined to win or die. 

When that time came, when the British army 
invaded the South, the hour brought the man. 
" Andrew Jackson," says Maurice Thompson, " was 
a fighter who fought to kill and who would brook 
no interference with his methods, no inquiries into 
his plans, no suggestions as to the extent of his 
authority. It chanced that he was the right man 



236 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

for the emergency; no other man could have saved 
New Orleans.'' 

And he did save it. 

In the beautiful January weather, when that 
fair sub-tropical land of Southern Louisiana lies 
bright and glorious in the rioting sunshine, there 
was gathered behind a shaky and uncertain breast- 
work of mud and dirt and useless cotton bales a 
motley army of barely six thousand men — regu- 
lars, volunteer militia, new levies, Creoles, Yankee 
sailors, Baratarian pirates, hunters, sharpshooters, 
frontiersmen, as curious a mixture of old men, 
young men, veterans, and recruits as one could 
well imagine, armed with a laughable assort- 
ment of weapons from blunderbusses to backwoods 
rifles, and marshalled under an indomitable, deter- 
mined, redcoat-ha^ng general. Facing them, 
behind and about a flimsy fortification of mud 
ramparts and sugar-hogsheads, was marshalled a 
strong and splendidly disciplined British army of 
fifteen thousand veterans of the Napoleonic wai-s. 

So they stood awhile — the invaders and the de- 
fenders. Then out from behind their defences, 
straight on through the open, over the oozy swamp- 
land and across the half-filled ditches, came march- 
ing a solid red-coated column of British soldiers, 
perfectly drilled and valiantly led. 

The Americans are silent, but ready. Four 
deep, the lines of picked riflemen and musketeers, 
with weapons ready, w;ait to get the range. It 



ANDREW JACKSON. 237 

comes speedily ; as nearer and nearer moves that 
gleaming unbroken column of red, its commander, 
General Pakenham himself, leading it on. 

Suddenly from the breastwork of mud and cot- 
ton-bales the rifles crack, the muskets bang, the 
supporting batteries boom and crash. The rifle- 
men have the range. Staggered by the withering 
fire, the British column shivers and sways, almost 
broken by its deadly reception ; it wavers, then re- 
forms, sweeps forward with a sudden rush, recoils 
and breaks, as a second volley flashes from the 
American line and mows its way through those 
veteran ranks. It is Bunker hill tactics over ao^ain. 

"What, veterans of the Peninsula, conquerors 
of Napoleon ! will you break before raw militia led 
by a blustering bush-fighter ? Form again ! Form 
again ! One rush all together and you '11 tumble 
their crazy mud walls about their ears. Turn 
again, men ; turn and at 'em ! " 

With commands and entreaties the desperate 
British leader reforms his panic^tricken column 
and once more leads it against the American earth- 
works. 

Again the deadly rifles speak ; again the with- 
ering fire rakes the English line. But it stands 
firm. Then Pakenham, hat waving above his 
head, urges his men to one supreme charge. 

"Over the works or die!" he cried; and then, 
struck in arm and thigh and breast by those merci- 
less bullets of the border men, the brave British 



238 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

leader sways in his saddle and dies before the works 
are reached. 

Still the advance continues. But now all the 
American guns are in action, from the overcharged 
thirty-two j)Ounders in the battery to the old horse- 
pistol in the hand of some green recruit. In one 
terrible, fearful fire, as fearful as ever burst from a 
repelling line, the guns of border State men, Creoles, 
and jjirates pour their hail of death into the British 
columns, while up and down the American line 
marches the grim, relentless, cool, and commanding 
leader, avenging the death of his mother and his 
brother, wiping out in blood the disgrace that had 
fallen upon his boyhood in that Carolina hill hut 
thirty years before. 

" Give it to 'em, boys ! Blow 'em up, boys ! 
Show the redcoats how an American fights," he 
shouts. And the redcoats learned. Their mar- 
shalled columns break, shattered under that ter- 
rible fire, and, at last, with fully two tliousand 
dead and wounded strewing the ground, with their 
leaders killed, their officers picked off by rifleman 
and sharpsliooter, the British turn in fliglit, the 
South is saved, and Andrew Jackson has made his 
name forever famous as the victor of New Orleans 
— victor, with but eight men killed and thirteen 
wounded. The Creek war and the battle of New 
Orleans made Andrew Jackson president of tlie 
United States. 

For they did make him president. Although a 



ANDREW JACKSON. 239 

dozen years passed between the victory at New 
Orleans and the presidential election of 1828 the 
fame of Andrew Jackson grew stronger through 
the years. He was very nearly elected in 1824, and 
when, four years later, a presidential campaign was 
again fought Jackson was elected president over 
John Quincy Adams by an electoral vote of 178 to 
83 — more than two to one. He was a popular 
hero. 

One or two other pictures of the man between 
those years of indignity and revenge I should like 
to show you. 

One is on the battlefield of Talluschatchee, where 
Jackson broke the power of the Creeks.* Disaster 
and death had overtaken the hostile Indians. Hun- 
dreds of dead and dying lay upon the field ; throngs 
of disconsolate prisoners were forced into the white 
man's camp. From the arms of a dead Indian 
mother a little child was taken, and as he inspected 
the prisoners Jackson saAV the Indian baby, and, 
humane in victory, tried to save it. 

But no Creek mother would take the baby. 
" Why save him ? " they replied to the general's 
command. '' His people are dead ; his wigwam is 
empty ; his father was a brave and died with his 
face to the foe. Let him die too. Kill the warrior's 
son now ; it is best." 

Then the general swore a mighty oath. 

" That boy shall live," he said, " even if I have 
to 'tend him myself. Take him to my tent." 



240 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The camp was bare of supplies. Lack of rations, 
that bugbear of every war and the foemen's greatest 
ally, had bred almost a famine, and the general's 
larder was as lean as the rest. But a little brown 
sugar was discovered, and with this, mixed with 
water, the general kept tlie Indian baby alive until 
he could send it to the settlements. There it was 
cared for at his expense until his return to his 
home, — the Hermitage, — where Mrs. Jackson, 
good motherly soul, took it in at once, and she and 
the general " raised " Linconyer, as they called 
their Indian " son," educating him, loving him, and 
caring for him until his death from consumption 
when he had grown to be seventeen years old, and 
very dear to the general and " Aunt Rachel." 

Another photograph is of the harsh but loving 
soldier, as he leaves the Hermitage • — the home he 
had built for his dearly loved " Rachel " — to enter 
the White House as president of the United 
States. Alas ! he is to go alone. For kindly " Aunt 
Rachel " is dead. She whom the general had 
defended from slander, rescued from ill-treatment, 
loved, married, and fought for had died just as 
the husband of whom she was so proud had 
reached the pinnacle of amijition and of fame. She 
died on the very day set by the people of Nash- 
ville for a jubilee over the general's election. The 
jubilee was changed to mourning, and Andrew 
Jackson never recovered from the loss of his dearly 
loved wife. It saddened all the rest of liis life. 



ANDREW JACKSON. 241 

Knowing this, does it not give a peculiar interest 
to the picture I wish to present you here in the 
words of okl Alfred, — Jackson's hist surviving 
slave, — as standing beside the temple-like mauso- 
leum in the garden of the Hermitage within which 
lies the dust of Andrew Jackson and his faithful 
wife he showed to some Northern visitors a few 
years ago the willows that shade the Jackson tomb. 

"Dese yer willows wuz planted by Gin'ral Jack- 
son," said Alfred. " Ole Mis' she jis' done buried 
and de trunks wuz all packed fer to go to Washing- 
ton, and Gin'ral Jackson he went right off yander 
beyond the quarters and cut four willow switches. 
Den he come down yar, an' he tuk his knife and 
made a hole and stuck one on 'era at each corner, 
jes' as you see 'era, and dey growed every one on 
'era 'cept dat ar' one yander what was struck by 
lightnin' ; and dere dey is now. Den when he done 
planted dem willow switches de ole gin'ral went 
back to de house to get in his carriage, fer to go to 
Washington. An' he look down yer to old Mis' 
grabe and he look at de house jes' like good-by, 
and he done tuk off his hat to de house, jes' like 
it was a lady ; and den he dribe away." 

You all know what a dramatic, stormy adrainis- 
tration those eight years of President Andrew Jack- 
son made. No man was more devotedly followed ; 
none was ever more cordially hated. Absolutely 
fearless, vigorous in methods, quick in action, em- 
phatic in speech, if Andrew Jackson ' thought a 



242 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

thing should be done he did it, careless of conse- 
quences. 

Let me show you one other picture — this is of 
President Andrew Jackson. 

In a little room on the second floor of the White 
House, at Washington, the tall, gaunt, grizzfed, 
lonely old man of sixty-six sat smoking his corn- 
cob pipe, something that even the dignity of the 
presidency could not induce him to give up. The 
old soldier's face was troubled, for disturbing news 
had come to him from that most disturbing section 
— South Carolina. The hot little State, inflamed 
over certain obnoxious tariff laws, had declared that 
the acts of Congress imposing them were null and 
void and expressed its determination to resist their 
enforcement. As he sat in his little room, smoking 
and thinking, a messenger entered with the latest 
tidings. They were certainly disturbing. The Leg- 
islature of South Carolina had met ; it had passed 
laws contrary to and subversive of those of Con- 
gress. The governor was authorized to call out the 
militia, equip and arm them, strengthen the defences 
of the State, and prepare to resist the authority of 
the Federal government and the president of the 
United States. 

When Andrew Jackson read this defiance of 
South Carolina all the patriotism and all the pas- 
sion in his nature burst into action. He sprang 
to his feet ; he dashed his corn-cob pipe to the 
floor. 



ANDREW JACKSON. 243 

"By the Eternal," he said, "the Union must 
and shall be preserved ! Send for General Scott." 

Swiftly the preparations were made. General 
Scott was at once despatched to Charleston ; sol- 
diers and sailors were disposed so as to be ready 
for instant action. 

Then he went again to his little room, seized the 
big steel pen which was his favorite aid in writ- 
ing, and, drawing the sheets before him, dashed off 
page after page of a proclamation to South Caro- 
lina, the words of which are ringing yet as a chal- 
lenge to treason and a plea for peace. 

So rapidly did he write that a new page would 
be completed before the ink was dry on the page 
that preceded it ; he threw into it the glow of his 
patriotism, the intensity of his passion, the fervor 
of his determination to keep the Union intact, and 
when one of his advisers suggested a change or 
toning down of one passage the general refused. 

" No, sir ! " he said decidedly. " Those are 
my views and I will not change them nor strike 
them out." 

That proclamation and the president's prompt 
action crushed the rebellious attempts of the " Nul- 
lifiers," as the South Carolina hot-heads were called. 
The country approved ; South Carolina receded ; 
and the Union was preserved by " Old Hickory," 
as the general was called, from the tough and un- 
bending nature of his imperious will. 

" I have had a laborious task," said the wearied 



244 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

but determined old man, after that historic episode 
was over, " but nullification is dead, and its actors 
and courtiers will only be remembered by the peo- 
ple to be execrated for their wicked designs to sever 
and destroy the only good government on the globe. 
. . . The free people of the United States have 
spoken and consigned these demagogues to their 
proper doom. Take care of the Nullifiers you have 
among you. Let them meet the indignant frowns of 
every man who loves his countr3\ . . . The tariff 
was only a pretext ; disunion and the Southern con- 
federacy were the real object." 

From this you can see that the old general was 
a gcfod deal of a prophet as well as patriot. 

Just such prompt and vigorous measures, too, did 
he bring to whatever needed instant attention. With 
the same sternness with which he crushed nullifi- 
cation he demolished the institution called the 
United States Bank, in which he did not believe, 
and which he considered a menace to the Republic ; 
he brought England to terms ; he made France pay 
a just but delayed indebtedness ; he settled disputes 
of long standing with Spain and Denmark ; he 
forced Europe to recognize and admit the strength 
and importance of the United States as a nation. 

He was impulsive ; he was hot-headed ; he was 
obstinate. He was the soldier in office, knowing 
no master save his own will, which, however, he 
declared, was the will of the people. It did ap- 
pear to be so ; for the majority of the people believed 



ANDREW JACKSON. 2^5 

SO thoroughly in Andrew Jackson that his two terms 
as president were the most effective and the most 
popular of all the administrations up to this day, 
and in all the history of the Republic Jackson was 
the only president who retired from office more 
popular than when he went in. 

Despotic, unyielding, masterful, but honest, lov- 
ing, and sincere, he was as loyal to his friends as he 
was vindictive to his foes, and yet, on his death- 
bed, he freely forgave all his enemies — " excepting 
those," he specified, "who slandered my 'Rachel' ; " 
and "Rachel" had been dead for fully twenty 
years. 

A boy of the " piney woods " region of the 
South, bluff and boisterous but never a coward, the 
life of Andrew Jackson was a continuous progress 
from small beginnings to a great future. Farmer 
boy, soldier boy, saddler's apprentice, law-student, 
hoi-se-trainer, lawyer, frontiersman, prosecuting 
attorney, land-speculator, State constitution-maker, 
congressman, senator, judge, storekeeper, farmer, 
boatbuilder, wholesale merchant, cotton planter, 
stock-raiser, militia officer, general, conqueror of 
Indians, Spaniards, and British, governor of Florida, 
United States senator, presidential candidate, and 
twice president of the United States, — this was the 
life record of Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, hero 
by popular acclaim. It was a record of steady 
progress through seventy-eight years of busy life, 
marked, again and again, by all those dramatic 



246 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

incidents and fieiy outbursts that made him at once 
a terror and a triumph. 

Says one energetic soldier and worker of to-day, 
Colonel and Governor Theodore Roosevelt, of New 
York and Santiago fame : " To a restless and un- 
tiring energy Jackson united sleepless vigilance 
and genuine military genius. ... In after 
years he did to his country some good and more 
evil ; but no true American can think of his deed 
at New Orleans without profound and unmixed 
thankfulness." 

" It was," says Professor Channing, " a most 
important day for the United States and the Ameri- 
can people when, under Andrew Jackson's lead, the 
forces of Democracy adopted the idea of the sov- 
ereignty of the people of the United States." 

It helped then, as it helped in an even more 
trying time, to save the Union that Andrew 
Jackson so passionately loved, and it is well for 
young Americans to remember that it was because 
Andrew Jackson was so brave, outspoken, deter- 
mined, and resolute that he silenced all opposition 
and triumphed over all enemies ; and that, with it 
all, beneath a tender heart he possessed a stern and 
inflexible honesty that rose almost to greatness 
and made him for all time a typical and historic 
American. 



XVIII. 

THE STORY OF DANIEL WEBSTER, OF 
MARSHFIELD, 

CALLED THE "EXPOUNDER OF THE 
CONSTITUTION." 



Born at Salisbury, New Hampshire, January 18, 1782. 
Died at Marshfield, Massachusetts, October '2-1, 1852. 



" So long as the Union of these States endures or holds a 
place in history the name of Daniel Webster will be honored 
and remembered, and his stately eloquence find an echo in the 
hearts of his countrymen."— //en ry Cahot Lodge. 

It was the opening year of the new century and 
the citizens of Hanover determined to celebrate 
the Fourth of July, 1800, in fitting and appropriate 
style. There was a muster, a procession, and a 
banquet; there were salutes and noise and fire- 
works. The Declaration of Independence was to 
be read, and of course there was to be a Fourth of 
July oration. 

Now, the town of Hanover in New Hampshire 
was, and is still, a college town. Dartmouth Col- 
lege has trained and sent forth many solid, able, 
and brilliant Americans, whose names adorn the 
walks of all occupations, professions, and successes. 

247 



248 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The town of Hanover is proud of Dartmouth Col- 
lege and of the men whom she has educated. So 
when, in 1800, an orator was to be selected for the 
Fourth of July oration the citizen turned at once 
to the college for the orator. 

" They say there 's a youngster up at the college 
that 's a master-hand at speaking," one of the select- 
men said, as they talked it over with the minister 
and the schoolmaster ; " he 's Cap'n Webster's son, 
— Judge Webster, I mean, from ujd Salisbury way." 

" Comes of good stock," another of the select- 
men remarked. " Cap'n Webster was the only man 
Washington said he could trust when Arnold cut 
up his didoes, and I have heard that the cap'n — 
he 's judge now, as you say — just skimped him- 
self and all his family to give this boy an educa- 
tion. Doing well, is he ? " 

" So I hear," his associate replied. " They do 
say that tliis youngster — Dan'l, I think his name 
is — Dan'l Webster, that 's it — knows more 'n some 
of his teachers up to the college, and when it comes 
to speaking pieces — well ! there 's. just nobody that 
can beat him." 

" Well, if that 's so, I say we ask him," said the 
other selectman. " He can't any more 'n fail. 
How old is he ? " he inquired. 

" He is pretty young, and that 's a fact ; he 's only 
about eighteen," the advocate of the boy orator 
admitted. " But, there now ! What 's that amount 
to? Somebody's got to hear the beginnings, and 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 249 

what's the difference h6w okl a preacher or a 
speaker is, if he 's got the gift ? " 

The young Dartmouth student who was the sub- 
ject of this discussion did surely have the gift. 
This, committee and audience speedily discovered 
when on that Fourth of July, in the year 1800, 
Daniel Webster, of Salisbury, stood before them to 
deliver his oration. 

Tall and thin, dark-hued and raven-haired, with 
the high cheek-bones of an Indian, and eyes so 
black, deep-set, and searching that the boys nick- 
named him " All eyes," this boy of eighteen was 
neither strong looking nor " pretty appearing," as 
the old ladies declared ; but there was in his look, 
his attitude, and his bearing something that at> 
tracted all his hearers as he rose to speak, while 
his voice, wonderfully deep-toned, melodious, and 
strong, captivated and held them ere he had com- 
pleted his first paragraph. The committee looked 
at each other approvingly, and the advocate of 
"young Dan'l " nudged his associate and whispered, 
" What did I tell you ? " 

" Why, the youngster 's a born orator ! " replied 
the now convinced selectman, nodding his head in 
approval. 

The selectman was right. Daniel Webster, col- 
legian, hiwyer, senator, statesman, was a born orator. 
And even in that boyish Fourth of July oration at 
Hanover, crude, high-flown, florid, and sophomoric 
effort though it was, he displayed at once his latent 



250 nisroRic Americans. 

power, his commanding eloquence, his marvellous 
diction, and yet more marvellous voice — above all, 
his intense patriotism and belief in America ; qual- 
ities which were to make him, in later years, the 
greatest of American orators, the man who was to 
leave to his countrymen and the world, as Mr. 
Schurz asserts, " invaluable lessons of statesman- 
ship, right, and patriotism." 

The recollection of that Fourth of July oration 
lived long with those who heard it. The spell of 
voice and manner, even more than of the word and 
matter, fell upon the listening throng, and even in 
their old age men would refer to it as one of the 
memories of their youth. 

" I heard Dan'l Webster's first speech, in Han- 
over, away back in 1800," they would boast, "and 
I declare, he never did anything /iner or was more 
patriotic than he was in that speech, and he was n't 
more than eighteen. It was wonderful, I tell 3'ou." 

It was not really so wonderful, of course, and 
Webster, certainly, did do many things finer. The 
recollections of youth receive in age a tinge and 
glory that later ex23erience lack; but it may never- 
theless be said, as Mr. Lodge claims, that in that 
youthful oration of Daniel Webster there was " the 
same message of love of country, national greatness, 
fidelity to the Constitution, and the necessity and 
nobility of the union of the States, which the man 
Webster delivered to his fellow-men." In Daniel 
Webster, the boy, lived the prophecy of a new era 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 251 

and a new generation in the men antl measures of 
the Repuhlic. 

Daniel Webster was horn in Salisbury, or what 
is now Franklin, in New Hampshire, on the eigh- 
teenth of January, 1782. His father was a veteran 
of the Revolution, a hard-working farmer who, 
because of his integrity, influence, and force, was 
made by his neighbors judge of the County Court. 
His mother was a noble New Hampshire woman, the 
equal of her husband in pluck, determination, and 
willing self-sacrifice. From these qualities in the 
parents came the boy's deliberate growth in great- 
ness ; for they sacrificed everything to give him an 
education ; and the puny, sickly boy baby whom no 
one in the neighborhood believed his parents could 
" raise," who learned his Constitution by heart 
from the cheap little handkerchief on which it was 
printed, and who when he went to school at Exeter 
could not speak " pieces," because he was so shy, 
became, at last, head of his class at Exeter, " prize 
student " at Dartmouth, the foremost man in the 
college. Fourth of July orator, in demand as a pub- 
lic speaker even before he was twenty, and a lawyer 
in New Hampshire, practising in his proud father's 
court, and winning reputation and income before he 
was twenty-three. When, in 1806, his overworked, 
self-sacrificing father died it was with the knowl- 
edge that his efforts had not been in vain, and that 
his son Daniel would not be a failure, but a success. 

A success he certainly was. He established him- 



252 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

self ill Portsmouth, winning rapidly both reputa- 
tion and fame. He became a politician of clear 
perception, broad views, and intense patriotism, and 
was sent to Congress from New Hampshire in 1813, 
where he was at once placed on its most important 
committee, that of Foreign Relations. There his 
wonderful gift of oratory and his remarkaljle power 
of getting at the heart of things at once won rec- 
ognition; there, in his first session, he foresaw and 
advocated the real power that won the battles of 
the war of 1812 and grew into the force that has 
made history for the Republic from the days of 
Hull to those of Farragut and Dewey and Samp- 
son — the navy of the United States. 

" If the war must continue," he said, " go to the 
ocean. If you are seriously contending for mari- 
time rights go to the theatre where alone those 
rights can be defended. Thither every indication 
of your fortune points you. There the united 
wishes and exertions of the nation will go with you. 
Even our party divisions, acrimonious as they are, 
cease at the water's edge." 

Was not that a prophetic utterance ? It was 
true in 1813 ; it was true in 1898. 

To better himself in his practice, Webster re- 
moved to Boston in 1817, and from that time, for 
nearly forty years, he became a " favorite son " of 
Massachusetts. The old Bay State sent him to 
Congress in 1823 ; in 1827 she sent him to the 
Senate. For twenty-eight yeai*s he was Massachu- 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 253 

setts' foremost representative in the councils of 
the nation, broken only by two seasons of service 
as secretary of state under Presidents Harrison 
and Fillmore. 

It was in the Senate of the United States that 
his greatest victories were won. It was before that 
body that, on the twenty-sixth of January, 1830, he 
made what has been styled "the greatest speech 
since Demosthenes," his famous reply to Hayne, his 
" Liberty and Union " speech, which, so says Mr. 
Schurz, "remained the watchword of American 
patriotism, and still reverberated tliirty years later 
in the thunders of the Civil war. That glorious 
speech," declares Mr. Schurz, "continues to hold 
the first place among the monuments of American 
oratory." " It sank," so says Mr. Lodge, " into the 
hearts of the people and became unconsciously a 
part of their life and daily thoughts." Let us read 
once more the story of that famous speech. 

It is not necessary, here, to detail the causes of 
J^hat great oration. Out of an insignificant question 
concerning the sale of public lands had grown a 
discussion as to the powers of the State and national 
governments. It was the time when the struggle 
between State sovereignty and national supremacy 
was fierce, both in and out of Congress, and the 
senator from South Carolina, Mr. Hayne, availed 
himself of the opportunity afforded by the discus- 
sion to arraign the State of Massachusetts, crush 
its chief representative, Mr. Webster, and establish 



254 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

the right of the States to interfere with and over- 
ride, for their own benefit, the national government, 
even the Constitution itself. 

Mr. Hayne's invective was a strong, forcible, 
intense, and personal speech, which for two days 
occupied the attention of the Senate and awakened 
all the fears and forebodings of the supporters of the 
Constitution ; for it seemed to them unanswerable. 

But it aroused one who would admit that no 
attack upon the Constitution and the Union should 
be allowed to go unanswered. 

" It is a critical moment, Mr. Webster," said Mr. 
Bell, of New Hampshire, as on the morning of the 
twenty-sixth of January, 1830, he met the sen- 
ator from Massachusetts on his way to the Capitol. 
" It is time, it is high time that the people of this 
country should know what this Constitution is." 

" Then, sir," replied Mr. Webster, "by the bless- 
ing of Heaven they shall learn, this day, before 
the sun goes down, what I understand it to be." 

Then he passed into the Senate chamber, packed 
to the doors by an expectant and eager throng who 
knew that, on that day, Daniel Webster was to take 
up the gage that the champion of disunion had 
thrown down and was to fight for the supremacy 
of the Union under the Constitution. 

Slowly he rose, quietly he began. The latent 
fires of patriotism and national love which were 
Imrning so fiercely in his heart did not at first burst 
into flame. 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 255 

" Mr. President," he said, " when the mariner has 
been tossed for many days in thick weather and on 
an unknown sea he naturally avails himself of the 
first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of the 
sun, to take his latitude and ascertain how far the 
elements have di-iven him from his true coui-se. 
Let us imitate this prudence ; and before we float 
farther on the waves of this debate, refer to the 
point from which we departed, that we may, at 
least, be able to conjecture where we are. I ask 
for the reading of the resolution before the 
Senate." 

The tense excitement of both supporters and 
opponents, strained in expectancy as the orator 
arose to speak, was calmed and restrained by this 
simple and quiet opening. Then by the time the 
clerk had read the original resolution from which 
all this discussion and excitement had sprung this 
consummate orator had alike himself, his auditore, 
and his subject well in hand and could control each 
as it suited him. 

Gradually he gave his thought words ; and 
these, growing in intensity and eloquence as he 
proceeded, soon captured friend and foe alike ; till, 
holding that great audience enthralled by his match- 
less voice and spellbound by his magnificent peri- 
ods, he struck at the doctrines advanced by Hayne 
with so sure a blow and carried forward the banner 
of union so triumphantly that, as Mr. Lodge says, 
" as the last words died away into silence those who 



256 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

had listened looked wonderingly at each other, 
dimly conscious that they had heard one of the 
grand speeches which are landmarks in the history 
of eloquence." 

Not alone in the crowded Capitol was the effect 
of that great speech almost beyond expression. 
"As his words went over the land," says Mr. 
Schurz, " the national heart bounded with joy and 
broke out in enthusiastic acclamations. At that 
moment Webster stood before the world as the fii-st 
of living Americans." 

What school boy does not know, what American 
heart does not thrill, over that matchless defence of 
his beloved Bay State ? — 

" Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium 
upon Massachusetts ; she needs none. There she 
is ! Behold her and judge for youi'selves. There is 
her liistory ; the world knows it by heart. The 
past at least is secure. There is Boston and Con- 
cord and Lexington and Bunker hill ; and there 
they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, 
falling in the great struggle for independence, now 
lie mingled with the soil of every State from New 
England to Georgia; and there they will lie for- 
ever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its 
first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and 
sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its 
manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord 
and disunion shall wound it, if party strife and 
blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, if folly 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 257 

and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and nec- 
essary restraint, shall succeed in separating it from 
that Union by which alone its existence is made 
sure, it will stand in the end by the side of that 
cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will 
stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may 
still retain over the friends who gather round it ; 
and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the 
proudest monuments of its own glory and on the 
very spot of its origin." 

And what American, whatever his State, what- 
ever his party, wherever his home, and however 
great his burden or unpleasant his lines, has not 
been lifted to the highest plane of enthusiasm and 
fired with the noblest love of country by that match- 
less peroration which so sunk into the hearts of men 
that it did more to save the Union than any Amer- 
ican has yet fully admitted ? — 

" Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons 
of my dissent to the doctrines which have been ad- 
vanced and maintained. I am conscious of havingr 
detained you and the Senate much too long. I was 
drawn into the debate with no previous delibera- 
tion, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave 
and important a subject. But it is a subject of 
which my heart is full, and I have not been willing 
to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous senti- 
ments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to re- 
linquish it, without expressing once more my deep 
conviction, that since it respects nothing less than 



258 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

the union of the States it is of most vital and essen- 
tial importance to the public hapj)iness. I profess, 
sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in 
view the prosperity and honor of the Avhole country, 
and the preservation of our federal Union. It is 
to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our 
consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that 
Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever 
makes us most proud of our country. That 
Union we reached only by the discipline of our 
virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had 
its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, 
prostrate commerce, and ruine dcredit. Under its 
benign influences, these great interests immediately 
awoke as from the dead and sprang forth with new- 
ness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed 
with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; 
and although our territory has stretched out wider 
and wider, and our population spread farther and 
farther, they have not outrun its protection or its 
benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain 
of national, social, and personal hajjpiness. 

" I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond 
the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the 
dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the 
chances of preserving liberty Avhen the bonds that 
unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have 
not accustomed myself to hang over the preeipice 
of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I 
can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 259 

could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the 
affairs of this government whose thoughts should 
be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union 
should be best preserved, but how tolerable might 
be the condition of the people when it shall be 
broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts 
we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread 
out before us — for us and our children. Beyond 
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant 
that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise ! 
God grant that on my vision never may be opened 
what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned 
to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may 
I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored 
fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dis- 
severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with 
civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal 
blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance 
rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, 
now known and honored throughout the earth, still 
full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming 
in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol- 
luted nor a single star obscured, bearing for its 
motto no such miserable interrogatory as ' What is 
all this worth ? ' nor those other words of delusion 
and folly, ' Liberty first and Union afterwards ; ' but 
everywhere, spread over all in characters of living 
light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over 
the sea and over the land, and in every wind under 
the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to 



260 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

every true American heart, — Liberty and Union, 
now and forever, one and inseparable." 

I have often wondered how Mr. Webster felt 
when he sat down after that marvellous speech was 
concluded. Think what it must be to a man to 
have that power of swaying a multitude by his 
words and regenerating a people by his power ! 

That Daniel Webster had that power the history 
of that great speech proves. It is a fact that Web- 
ster's " Liberty and Union " oration was the favor- 
ite declamation of American school boys for five 
and twenty years ; that its words and precepts 
went deeper into their hearts than they themselves 
imagined ; that it inspired a passionate and devoted 
love for the Union throughout the North wliich, 
when the hour of danger came to the Republic, em- 
phasized the sentiment of nationality, and nerved 
the arm as it sustained the courage of the united 
North. Therein, as Mr. Lodge says, " lies the debt 
which the American people owe to Webster, and in 
that is his meaning and importance in his own time 
and to us to-day." 

Daniel Webster was not alone an orator. He 
was a great lawyer and a great statesman. But to 
us, to-day, his name suggests always "liberty and 
union." It is on that speech that his fame was 
built, and for that speech that he will be forever 
remembered. 

No statesman in all America had a more unfal- 
tering love of country, none had a more absorbing 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 261 

belief in the greatness of the Republic and its mag- 
nificent possibilities. In speech as senator, in State 
papers as secretary, he fought ever for one thing — 
the integrity of the Republic and the permanence of 
American nationality. Even his fatal " seventli of 
March " speech, as it is always called, — that speech 
in 1850 in which he supported the odious Fugitive 
Slave Law, and disappointed his steadfast support- 
ers, — even that was because of his love for the 
Union, and his desire to preserve it unbroken, 
though, to do so, he must sacrifice his inherited be- 
liefs and principles. 

Daniel Webster was a big man and loved big 
things — big farms and trees and cattle and moun- 
tains, Niagara, the ocean — bigness in everything, 
and for that reason he could stand nothing small 
or sectional in American life. He loved the Union 
as a great and undivided whole, and in the very 
speech that worked his ruin he made the patriotic 
and national declaration that should have gone far 
to excuse his action : " I was born an American ; I 
live an American ; I shall die an American." 

He did so die. True to the expressed hope in 
his ever-famous speech, his eyes, when turned to 
behold for the last time the sun in heaven, did in- 
deed see " the gorgeous ensign of the Repuljlic," 
still full high advanced, not a star obscured, not a 
stripe erased, floating in the wind of heaven, with 
liberty and union still the sentiment dear to the 
American heart. For, when the great orator lay 



262 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

dying in his beloved Marslifield home, lie could see 
from his window, as he looked each morning to be 
sure that the flag was still there, the flutter of the 
stars and stripes which he so dearl}^ loved, and 
which, according to his orders, were kept floating 
from the flagstaff until his last breath had passed. 
A great man was Daniel Webster, of Massachu- 
setts ; a man of faults as great and -glaring as his 
own vast ideas and talents, but a man of wonderful 
powers and mighty mind, a real son of the Republic, 
an American citizen in the best sense of that noble 
and impressive word. He was, in truth, the " Ex- 
pounder of the Constitution," as none had before 
expounded it ; he was the defender and upholder 
of the Union ; and to his labors and his magnetic 
eloquence the boys and girls of America, to-day, 
owe, in very large degree, their peace, their security, 
their very existence. 



XIX. 

THE STORY OF WASHINGTON IRVING, 
OF NEW YORK, 

CALLED THE "FOUNDER OF AMERICAN 
LITERATURE." 



Born in New York City, April 3, 1783. 

Died at Tarrytown, New York, Novenaber 28, 1S59. 



" Born while the British troops were still in possession of his 
native city, and overtaken by death a year before Abraham 
Lincoln was elected president, he represents a span of life from 
Eevolutionary days to a period well remembered by men now of 
middle age. . . . He was the first American man of letters 
whose writings contained the vital spark. . . . His position 
in American literature is unique and will always remain so." — 
Edwin W. Morse. 

The street echoed with the sound of martial 
music — the rattle of the drum, and the shrill 
quaver of the fife ; a flash of color and a flutter 
of flags filled the nearest street ; and the small boy 
on the dooi'step could not resist the temptation. 
Darting from his perch on the " stoop " of his 
father's house, he whisked about the corner and was 
soon forcing his way into tlie crowd. 

It was a joyous and jubilant crowd into which 

263 



264 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

this runaway six-year old had tlirown himself. 
It was evidently out for a holiday, and yet it 
seemed to be a holiday of exceptional significance. 
The flags and the music, the soldiers and the crowd, 
were but a part of the accessories of the pageant, 
while the pageant itself finally became, for this 
small spectator, simply a large, impressive-looking 
man standing on a balcony, plainly dressed in 
brown short-clothes, to whom another man in black 
robes handed an open book which the big man in 
brown fervently kissed. 

Then the small boy in the crowd heard the man 
in black robes call out in loud, triumphant tones, 
" Long live George Washington, president of the 
United States ! " Whereupon the people, packed 
in the street below, cheered themselves hoarse, the 
drums and fifes played up their loudest, all the 
bells in all the steeples rang a merry peal, the guns 
boomed out a salute, and young Washington Irving, 
aged six, had witnessed the inauguration of George 
Washington as the first president of the United 
States of America. 

Seventy years after, in a beautiful vine-embow- 
ered home on the banks of the noble Hudson, an 
old man wrote " The End " to a long and exhaustive 
work upon which he had expended a vast amount 
of research, time, and labor. Sick almost unto 
death, he still gave to the work a devoted and un- 
remitting attention, and when at last it was finished, 
the last " copy " turned in to the printer, the pen 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 265 

with which it was written ofiveii to an admiring 

o o 

friend, the last task of a long and busy life was 
concluded, and the famous author gave to the world 
the life-story of the man for whom he was named, 
the patriot for whom he had an enthusiastic rever- 
ence, the big man in brown whom, as a small boy, 
he had seen made president of the United States, 
and whose story as told by him has become world- 
renowned as Irving's " Life of Wasliington." 

There is a story told to the effect that, when this 
small boy was first "put into trousers " the Irving 
maid-servant who was charged with his care fol- 
lowed the dignified and awe-inspiring first president 
of the United States into a shop, dragging the boy 
with her. 

" Please, your Honor," said this Scotch Lizzie, 
with the inevitable courtesy of tliose days as her 
" manners," but with an evidently exalted opinion 
of the Irving family as well, — " please, your Honor, 
here 's a bairn as was named after you." 

And the great Washington, punctilious in small 
matters as he was in great affairs, stooped down 
and laid his hand upon the head of the small 
Washington. 

" I am glad to know you, my little man," he said ; 
"grow up to be a good one." 

He grew to be both good and great- — -good in 
his character, great in the service he did to Amer- 
ican letters. For as surely as George Washington 
was the Father of his Country so surely was 



266 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Washington Irving the Father of his Country's 
Literature. 

He was a boy of old New York — that quaint, 
picturesque, yet cosmopolitan, city of the close of 
the eighteenth century, when Fulton street was up- 
town, Canal street far in the country, and Central 
j)ark an unclaimed wilderness ; when Dutch ways 
and Dutch manners still controlled the city's 
domestic life, and the growth and bustle of the 
mighty nineteenth century had not commenced — 
even in prophecy. Washington Irving's father 
was a prosperous merchant of the town, and the 
boy, being of a delicate constitution, was not held 
to strict accountability either in school, pursuits, or 
recreations — though he has put on record a glimpse 
of the over-strict discipline of those days, when he 
remarked, '' When I was young I was led to think 
that, somehow or other, everything that was pleas- 
ant was wicked." 

One thing, certainly, he did not find to be pleasant 
— boolcs and study. Learning came hard to him ; 
he had not sufficient application to do well with the 
dull routine studies of those days of stupid text- 
books and stupider methods of teaching, and so, 
gradually, he became, as he confesses, a " saunterer 
and a dreamer," with just two fixed desires, — to 
keep out of college and to go to sea. It is well, 
however, to add here that he awoke later to see 
and acknowledge his error ; for he always regretted 
that he had not " gone through " college. 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 267 

So, at sixteen his father decided, much against 
his own will, to make a lawyer of young Washing- 
ton ; for he had wished the boy to ])e almost any- 
thing else. But law-books were, if anything, dryer 
than school-books, and young Irving lost no oppor- 
tunity to turn from reading law to essays, novels, 
and poems. He loved, too, the life in the open air, 
and he tramped and hunted all the section along 
the Hudson above New York, until the region be- 
came dear to him with a charm that never forsook 
him. He loved to hear the stories that haunted 
that romantic country that had been the bloody 
borderland of the Revolution and which teemed 
with the legends and traditions that this careless, 
dreamy boy was later to give to literature and 
fame. 

Opportunity, at last, came to him to go abroad. 
This was due to the affection and forethought of his 
eldest brother, — " the man I loved most on earth," 
Washington Irving said of him, — who feared for 
his brother's delicate health and appreciated the 
benefit that would come to one of his disposition if 
he were able to see the great world beyond the sea. 

The voyage and the travel had precisely the 
effect this wise elder brother desired : they braced 
the young fellow up mentally and physically, and 
after two years abroad he returned filled with the 
new thoughts and new desires that opportunity and 
a broader culture created in him, laying thus the 
foundations from which sprang his literary career. 



268 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

This career commenceil soon after his return to 
New York. He began with sketches and personal- 
ities, — a sort of magazine-work, — and then, sud- 
denly, blossomed into real achievement with his 
familiar and ever famous anonymous travesty, 
'' Knickerbocker's History of New York." It was 
the forerunner of the American humor which in the 
next century was to become so original and marked 
a feature of American literature, and although it 
has been so mistakenly accepted as fact as to work a 
serious and harmful influence on the real and valu- 
able story of the beginnings of New York history, 
it still has become an American classic — a humor- 
ous masterpiece, with no appreciable rival until the 
appearance, almost sixty years after, of Mark 
Twain's " Innocents Abroad." 

The leaderless war of 1812 found AVashington 
Irving (even as the war of 1898 found so many 
good Americans) regretting its necessity, but an 
ardent patriot. 

One night as the regular steamboat was puffing 
down the river, and the cabin was filled with sleepy, 
reclining passengers, a man came on board at 
Poughkeepsie and electrified the company with the 
dreadful news of the British capture of Wasliing- 
ton and the destruction of the public buildings. 

" Well," said a voice in sneering comment from 
one of the dimly seen l)enches, "what else could 
you expect ? I wonder what Jimmy Madison will 
say now ? " 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 269 

The patriotic but not over-strong Irving fairly 
sprang at the partisan and critic. 

" Sir ! " he cried indignantly, " do you seize on 
such a disaster only for a sneer? Let me tell you, 
sir, it is not a question now about ' Jimmy ' Madi- 
son or ' Jimmy ' Armstrong or any other ' Jimm3\' 
The pride and honor of the nation are wounded, 
the country is insulted and disgraced by this bar- 
barous success, and every loz/al citizen should feel 
the ignominy and be earnest to avenge it." 

The wliole cabin broke into applause at this 
patriotic outburst, and the selfish partisan had not 
a word to say. 

"I could not see the fellow," Irving explained, 
" but I would n't stand what he said, and I just let 
fly at him in the dark." 

Then he went at once to the governor and offered 
his services. They were readily accepted, and 
Irving, being made the governor's aide and military 
secretary, became at once Colonel Washington 
Irving. 

He served as aide and secretary until the close of 
the war, and his duties were neither as light nor as 
decorative as one is apt to regard those of these 
staff warriors. He really was a worker and a vig- 
orous one, but he hailed with joy the completion 
of the war, and also the opportunity for another 
trip abroad. 

This second visit to Europe gave him fresh stores 
of experience and material, but he was scarcely yet 



270 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ready to take up literature as a jirofessiou. Life 
was too easy and too enjoyable. 

Suddenly, however, he was brought face to face 
with duty. Misfortune fell upon the Irving family : 
his brothers failed in business and he was compelled 
to look out for himself. But what then appeared a 
great disaster actually proved, as have so many 
other disasters to men, a real incentive, " a for- 
tunate failure ; " for it made Washington Irving a 
purpose-filled worker, and gave him to American 
literature. 

His '.' History of New York," and his scattered 
sketches, had made him known in England as one 
of those apparent impossibilities — an American 
author. So, when he was forced to take up his pen 
as a bread-winner he determined to carry on his work 
in London and at once began writing those delight- 
ful papers which make up the " Sketch Book" and 
which were published serially both in England and 
America. 

Success did not come without a few fii-st " hitches," 
but, once started, it came uninterruptedly, and 
Irving found a market for all that he could write. In 
1820 appeared the " Sketch Book," in 1822, " Brace- 
bridge Hall," in 1824, " Tales of a Traveller," and 
then Irving was able to change his atmosphere and go 
to Spain, where he w^rote the " Life of Columbus," 
published in 1828 ; the "Conquest of Granada," in 
1829; and the sketches known as "Tales of the 
Alhambra." 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 271 

Then, having gained both fame and fortune by 
his pen, he determined to return, and in 1832 he 
arrived in New York, after an absence of seven- 
teen yeare. He was famous, popuLar, and honored. 
America hailed him as her first man of letters — the 
American who had fairly won English recognition 
and respect. Indeed, the rush of hospitalities upon 
him was so great that, finally, he was obliged to 
turn his back upon his social successes and " take 
to the woods." 

He did this literally ; for in the fall of 1832 he 
made a journey into the prairie land of the West 
and Southwest, gaining material and " local color " 
for his books of American travel and adventure 
which appeared soon after, — ^ "• A Tour on the 
Prairies," in 1835; "Astoria," in 1836; and the 
" Adventures of Captain Bonneville," in 1837. 

While at work on these books he had been able 
to purchase a " little Dutch cottage " and ten acres 
of land on the river-bank just below Tarry town on 
the Hudson. That little stone Dutch cottage, in 
which once had lived the Van Tassells, of Sleepy 
Hollow fame, grew, with some modest additions, 
into Sunnyside, the best-known literary residence in 
America next to Longfellow's house at Cambridge. 

In 1842 Washington Irving was made United 
States minister to Spain. The appointment re- 
flected great credit upon President Tyler, but still 
more upon Daniel Webster, who advocated and se- 
cured tlie appointment, and who looked upon it as 



272 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

a distinct and merited recognition of the work of 
Irving in the cause of American literature. 

The appointment was most unexpected to Irving. 
He scarcely knew what to say or do. 

" Washington Irving," said Daniel Webster, " is 
now the most astonished man in the city of New 
York." 

" What shall I do ? " he said to his nephew and 
later biographer. " I don't want to go and yet I do. 
I don't want to leave Sunnyside, and yet a resi- 
dence at Madrid would let me do some work I 
must undertake. I appreciate the honor and dis- 
tinction, but — good heavens ! it 's exile — it 's 
exile ! It is hard, very hard," he added, smiling 
upon his nephew, " and yet I suppose I must try 
to bear it. ' God tempers the wind to the shorn 
lamb,' you know," and thus, making merry even in 
his struggle over a divided duty, he accepted the 
unsolicited appointment and made ready to go to 
Spain. 

He remained in ^Madrid as minister to Spain four 
years, from 1842 to 1846, but he did not do- the 
literary labor he expected to perform there. He 
had it on his mind, however, and the " work " 
he referred to, while considering his appointment, 
he really planned and arranged there. This was to 
be his greatest work — the " Life of Washington." 
His attention to the affairs of his post, however, 
occupied much of his time, and Daniel Webster, 
who was then secretary of state, used to say that 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 273 

he always laid aside every other correspondence to 
read a diplomatic despatch from the United States 
minister to Spain. 

It was the nineteenth of September, 1846, when 
Irving found himself " home again " at Sunnyside. 
He was overjoyed to be once more in what he called 
his "darling little Sunnyside," and he intended to 
get to work on his proposed books at once. But he 
did not. Leisure was too pleasant, and was one of 
the things he could now afford ; but he wrote at 
last to his nephew, begging him to come and spur 
him on, for, said he, " I am growing a sad laggard 
in literature, and need some one to bolster me up 
occasionally. I am ready to do anything else rather 
than write." But after a while he got to work 
again, and published in 1849 his " Life of Gold- 
smith" — his favorite author; in 1850 he issued 
" Mahomet and his Successors," and in 1854 " Wol- 
fert's Roost." He had also through these years 
been at work on his " Life of Washington," the 
first volume of which appeared in 1855, and the 
fifth and concluding volume in 1859. 

So, for just fifty years, from 1809 to 1859, had 
Washington Irving been making a name for him- 
self, and a place for American literature. Before 
his day little that could be called literature had ap- 
peared from x'Vmerican writers. Theology or pol- 
itics were the only themes that could inspire the 
American pen, and, at the best, the result of this- 
inspiration was dry and dull enough. Washington 



274 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Irving put life and strength, sentiment and sinew 
into the dry bones of American letters, and created 
a school of writing in which, however, few scholars 
could equal the master, whose work stands at this 
day strong in its influence, captivating in its style, 
enchanting in its humor, and simple in its pathos. 

Irving was a most companionable man, fond of 
society and of his friends, enjoying a good time, 
but always curious to hear and see what was 
going on in the world. 

" I never could keep at home," he declared, 
" when Madrid was in a state of siege and under 
arms, and the troops bivouacking in every street 
and square ; and I always had a strong hankering 
to get near the gates when the fighting was going 
on." 

This quality was almost that of the newspaper 
man and special correspondent ; it was this that 
made him i<ee things wherever he was — in mid- 
ocean, in European capitals, in the heart of the 
Catskills, amid the silent ruins of the Alhambra, or 
in the mighty lonesomeness of the Western plains. 

But, with all his love of society, his friendly ways, 
and his personal popularity, Irving was one of the 
most modest and retiring of men — fearing nothing 
so much as an after-dinner speech, as witness his 
comical experience when called upon to speak at 
the famous Dickens dinner in 1842. 

" I shall certainly break down — I shall certainly 
break down," he kept saying before he was called 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 275 

upon to speak, even though his speech was all writ- 
ten out and lay beside his plate. 

" There ! I told you I should break down, and 
I 've done it ! " he exclaimed, as he resumed his seat 
with his speech only half delivered, but with all 
the table loud in its applause of the neat way in 
which he got out of the scrape. 

Dickens loved him, Scott loved him, Moore 
loved him, Motley and Bancroft loved him. In 
fact, every one who knew intimately this gracious, 
kindly, lovable, and friendly man loved him, from 
kings to children, and from great men to gardeners". 

He never married. The woman whom he hoped 
to make his wife died early in his life and he re- 
mained a bachelor until his death. But his home 
was the Mecca of all the children of his kindred 
families, and he had always a kindly greeting and a 
cheery word for every niece and nephew who came 
to see him ; a letter written to his nephew, Irving 
Grinnell, is one of the things that every boy — 
especially every young American — should read. 

It is claimed by some critics that though Wash- 
ington Irving was one of the chief ornaments of 
American literature he was not really an American 
author ; that he conformed too closely to English 
standards and was an English rather than an Ameri- 
can writer. And yet nothing was more distinc- 
tively American, in humor and conception, than his 
" Knickerbocker's New York ; " while such stories of 
his as "• Rip Van Winkle " and the " Legend of 



276 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Sleepy Hollow " — American both, in subject and 
manner as well — hold tlieir place among the 
famous specimens of American literature. 

Whatever he may have been in style and method 
he certainly showed his countrymen what Amer- 
ican writers could do. He lifted American litera- 
ture out of the deadly ruts into which what there 
was of it persistently stuck, and he inspired younger 
men to follow his example and be natural, creative, 
and original. 

Unaffected, loyal, courteous, kind-hearted, refined, 
and unconscious, he put the stamp of sincerity, 
artistic finish, clear and easy narrative upon what- 
ever he wrote. His history, instead of being dry 
and stilted, is picturesque and attractive ; his biog- 
raphy is at once direct, poetical, and intellectual; 
while the pathos, the humor, the vividness, and the 
beauty of his shorter sketches have made them out- 
live a host of pretentious and overstrained attempts 
at story-telling ; so that Washington Irving, to-day, 
is read by thousands with the same delight, though 
with a clearer sense of his excellences as well as 
his imperfections, as when, years ago, he came, a 
new star in the intellectual firmament, leading and 
lighting the way to endeavor, success, progress, and 
development in the field which he had discovered 
as the founder and father of a real American litera- 
ture. 



XX. 

THE STORY OF HENRY CLAY, OF 
ASHLAND, 

CALLED "THE GREAT PACIFICATOR." 



Born near Richmond, Virginia, April 12, 1777. 
Died at Washington, July 29, 1852. 



" I have admired and trusted many statesmen. I profoundly 
loved Henry Clay. ... I loved him for his generous 
nature, his gallant bearing, his thrilling eloquence, and his life- 
long devotion to wliat I deemed our country's unity, prosperity 
and just renown. . . . The careless reader of our history in 
future centuries will scarcely realize the force of his personal 
magnetism, nor conceive how millions of hearts glowed with 
sanguine hopes of his election to the presidency, and lamented 
his and their discomfiture." — Horace Greeley. 

It was a day of jubilee in Washington. From 
end to end that straggling little city of great possi- 
bilities and unfulfilled intentions, of public edifices 
still unfinished and broad avenues little better than 
muddy or dusty highways, was in a state of excite- 
ment ; flags fluttered everywhere, peopled thronged 
the approaches to the Capitol, and amid shouts and 
cheers a little old Frenchman rode up to the big, 
uncompleted white palace on the hill as the guest 
of the Republic — an honored and beloved guest, 

277 



278 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

whose name has ever been held in grateful re- 
membrance — Lafayette. 

The year was 1824. The month was September. 
He had l)een greeted by the president ; he was pre- 
sented to the Senate ; and now he entered the cir- 
cular chaml)er of the old House of Representatives 
— the room which, to-day, is devoted to the per- 
petuation of historic Americans under the name of 
Statuary hall; there he was welcomed by the 
assembled congressmen, who sprang to their feet to 
greet the nation's guest and cheered the old hero to 
the echo as he proceeded to the place of honor be- 
side the Speaker of the House. 

Then uprose the tall Speaker of the House, tow- 
ering above the small, slight French nobleman. 
Spare in person and plain of face, yet with a man- 
ner that was the height of courtesy and a personal- 
ity that was fascinating beyond expression, Henry 
Clay, Speaker of the House of Representatives, in 
the name of the Congress of the United States wel- 
comed the nation's guest to the legislati*'e hall of 
the people's representatives. 

Not one, supporter or opponent, but was proud 
of his Speaker as the words of welcome came from 
those eloquent lips ; not one but joined, for once, 
at least, in the sentiments of love and friendship 
that he uttered, expressing the warm heart of the 
nation which went out in friendship and honor to 
this famous old man of sixty-seven, the friend and 
companion of Washington, the generous and valiant 



HENRY CLAY. 279 

upholder and hero of the Revolution alike through 
its days of stress and in its hour of triumph. 

Dignified, appropriate, and eloquent, with no 
show of oratory or any striving for effect, were the 
words of the Speaker ; and thus he concluded : 

" The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, 
that Providence would allow the patriot, after 
death, to return to his country and to contemplate 
the immediate changes which had taken place : to 
view the forests felled, the cities built, the moun- 
tains levelled, the canals cut, the highways con- 
structed, the progress of the arts, the advancement 
of learning, and the increase of population. Gen- 
eral, your present visit to the United States is a 
realization of the consoling object of that wish. 
You are in the midst of posterity. Everywhere 
you must have been struck with the great changes, 
physical and moral, which have occurred since you 
left us. Even this very city, bearing a venerated 
name, alike endeared to you and to us, has since 
emerged from the forest which then covered its 
site. In one respect you behold us unaltered, and 
this is in the sentiment of continued devotion to 
liberty, and of ardent affection and profound grati- 
tude to your departed friend, the Father of his 
Country, and to you, and to your illustrious asso- 
ciates in the field and in the Calnnet, for the multi- 
plied blessings which surround us, and for the very 
privilege of addressing you which I now exercise. 
This sentiment, now fondly cherished by more than 



280 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

ten millions of people, will be transmitted with un- 
abated vigor down the tide of time, through the 
countless millions who are destined to inhabit this 
continent to the latest posterity." 

We are told that the sensitive and gallant French- 
man, whose whole life had been a story of romance, 
adventure, eminence, privation, and success, was 
moved to tears by Claj^'s appreciative and sympa- 
thetic speech of welcome, while even the most un- 
compromising opponent of the Speaker in that 
crowded hall yielded to the influence of his greeting 
and responded with appreciation and applause to 
the words of Henry Clay — " genial, cordial, cour- 
teous, gracious, magnetic, winning Harry Clay." 

That was what one admirer called him, exhaust- 
ing all available adjectives of manly affection ; and 
a recent historian, carefully surveying the field of 
America's mid-century politics, records as his ver- 
dict that " no man has been loved as the people of 
the United States loved Henry Clay." 

His story is but that of another great man sprung 
from small beginnings. He was the son of a strug- 
gling Baptist minister, settled over a little parish 
near Richmond in Virginia. The little settlement 
was known as the Slashes of Hanover, and as the 
minister's son was fifth in a family of seven he had 
many " chores " to do. One of these was to ride 
the old horse to and from the mill, and from this 
duty came the nickname by which Henry Clay won 
popularity, " The mill boy of the Slashes." 



HENRY CLAY. 281 

He was a bright, wide-awake, active little fellow, 
but the opportunities for education were very slight 
in liis country»home, and when, after his father died, 
his mother married again, young Harry, just in his 
'teens, was sent to Richmond to strike out for him- 
self. He began as a copying clerk in a Richmond 
court; he made friends, as he always did, and, 
helped by them, was able to set up as a lawyer, so 
that when, in 1797, he removed to Lexington, Ky., 
he could " hang out liis shingle " in that pleasant 
town in the beautiful " blue-grass country," which 
remained his dearly loved home all through his life. 
He soon became popular in Kentucky; for his 
frank and cordial manners quickly won him friends, 
and, before long, he had gone into politics. He 
was sent to the Kentucky Legislature in 1804 ; and 
in 1806, when barely thirty years old, he was made 
United States senator. 

From that time until his death he held, by the 
force of his wonderful personality, as well as of his 
character and ability, tlie leadei-ship of his State, 
and by his magnetic power and wise methods he 
held Kentucky from joining the disaffected States 
of the South and kept her firm for the Union. 

For more than forty years Hemy Clay was a 
public man. He was in the Senate, the House of 
Representatives, and the Cabinet. He was six times 
Speaker of the House, and one who served with him 
there for many yeare declared that "no abler or 
more connnanding presiding officer ever sat in the 



282 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Speaker's chair on either side of the Atlantic." He 
was secretary of state under President John Quincy 
Adams, and that broad-minded chief magistrate 
declared that " for preeminent talents, splendid ser- 
vices, ardent patriotism, all-embracing public spirit, 
fervid eloquence in behalf of the rights and liber- 
ties of mankind, and long experience in affairs of 
the Union, no man in the United States was to be 
preferred to Henry Clay." 

It was his eloquence and personality that brought 
about the war of 1812; it was his diplomacy and 
wisdom that closed the war in the celebrated Treaty 
of Ghent, in 1814. In that treaty-making Clay 
showed himself a match for the shrewdest European 
diplomats, while his absence from Congress was so 
significant a loss that Professor Channing declares 
that " to the absence of Clay from Congress has 
been attriljuted much of the extraordinary imbecil- 
ity of that body during this period." 

His leadership in Congress was indeed beyond 
dispute. His political opponents feared alike his 
power and his personality. 

" General," said one member of Congress to a 
new arrival, " may I introduce you to Henry 
Clay?" 

"No, sir; no, sir!" the general answered decid- 
edly. "I am Henry Clay's adversary, and I do not 
choose to submit myself to his fascination." 

One student of the proceedings of Congress de- 
clares that Clay, as a parliamentary leader, was the 



HENRY CLAY. 283 

greatest in the history of America, while Mr. Schurz 
says of his ability that his was " the leadership of a 
statesman zealously striving to promote great pub- 
lic interests." 

His public spirit was notable. His first speech 
in Congress was in favor of encouraging domestic 
manufactures ; he advocated most extensive plans 
of internal improvements — canals, water-routes, 
highways — whatever would connect the East with 
the West, the North with the South. 

" We are not legislating for this moment only," 
he said, " or for the present generation, or for the 
present populated limits of the United States. Our 
acts must embrace a wider scope — reaching north- 
ward to the Pacific and southward to the River Del 
Norte. Imagine tliis extent of territory with sixty 
or seventy or a hundred millions of people. The 
powers which exist now will exist then ; those 
which will exist then exist now." 

As the twentieth century opens, the Republic has 
passed beyond the seventy millions' limit, and Clay's 
labors for internal improvement have borne a last- 
ing fruit. 

He was the ardent supporter of the South Ameri- 
can colonies in their revolt from Spain. " All Amer- 
ica," said Bolivar, the Spanish-American patriot* 
" owes your Excellency our purest gratitude for the 
incomparable services which you have rendered to 
us, by sustaining our cause with sublime enthu- 
siasm." The speeches of Clay in behalf of South 



284 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

American independence were read by Bolivar at 
the head of his troops, and Clay was an earnest ad- 
vocate, in 1825, for helping Cuba throw off '• the 
hated incubus of Spanish rule."' He was the first 
suggester of a " Pan-American Congress," and it was 
a favorite dream of his, says Mr. Parton, " to see 
the western continent occupied by flourishing re- 
publics, independent but closely allied." 

The chief effort, however, of Henry Clay's pub- 
lic life was to prevent a disruption of the Union he 
so passionately loved, and to avoid a quarrel between 
the North and the South. To do this he was con- 
tinually endeavoring to effect what was called a 
" compromise " — that is, a little giving in by both 
sides to the controversy in the interest of unity and 
peace. 

Henry Clay brought about by his efforts three 
such concessions in three historic compromises — 
in 1821, in 1833, and in 1850. The firet of these 
was the famous Missouri compromise. The North 
endeavored to prevent the admission of Missouri into 
the Union as a slave State ; the South insisted upon 
it. By the leadership and through the influence 
of Clay slaves were permitted in Missouri, but ex- 
cluded from all other territory north of the Arkansas 
line. The quarrel was temporarily healed, and Clay 
was accorded the title of the " Great Pacificator." 
The second arose from the conflict over the tariff of 
1833, when President Jackson throttled the rebel- 
lion of South Carolina. Clay labored to patch up 



HENRY CLAY. 285 

the dispute by a gradual reduction of the objection- 
able tariff during ten yeare, and again the breach 
was healed by the masterly work of Henry Clay. 
The third was known as the compromise of 1850. 
This was to settle the disputes that had grown up 
between the States over the subject of slavery. 
They were many and bitter, but by concessions alike 
by the North and South, arranged, pleaded for, and 
pushed to acceptance by Clay, the " inevitable con- 
flict " was again averted, and the " compromise of 
1850 " was regarded as the croAvning triumph of 
Henry Clay's brilliant achievements. It only post- 
poned things for a short time ; but the Great Paci- 
ficator, like Daniel Webster, his associate, rival, and 
ally, died before the actual disturbance came, and 
he, at least, was spared the sight of the conflict he 
had labored to avert. 

" Let us discard all resentments," he said, as he 
urged this final compromise, " all passions, all petty 
jealousies, all personal desires, all love of peace, all 
hungering after gilded crumbs which fall from the 
table of power. Let us forget popular fears, from 
whatever quarter they may spring. Let us go to 
the fountain of unadulterated patriotism, and per- 
forming a solemn lustration, return divested of all 
selfish, sinister, and sordid impurities, and think 
alone of our God, our country, our conscience, and 
our glorioas Union." 

It was an appeal that went to the hearts of his 
listeners and helped largely to still the passions that 



286 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

were flaming into oj)en danger. When next they 
flared up unrestrainedly there was no Henry Clay 
alive to stifle or restrain them. It is a question 
whether even his matchless methods could have 
effected a compromise in 1860. New men and new 
measures had come to the surface ; the day was for 
a Lincoln, and not for a Clay, and the conflict that 
was inevitable could be no longer postponed. But 
even in that time of trial and of breaking bonds 
Kentucky stood true to the Union, resisting all 
the frantic endeavore made to draw her into the 
Confederacy, — a tribute alike to the marvellous 
patience and tact of Abraham Lincoln and to the 
love for the Union instilled into the people of his 
own State by Henry Clay. 

He was a true American. His policy was Ameri- 
can, hence it was popular ; and out of this popu- 
larity grew the ambition that was never gratified, 
the feeling that in time the people of the United 
States desired and would make Henry Clay their 
president. From 1822 to 1848 — a quarter of a 
century— Henry Clay was the perpetual presiden- 
tial choice of a vociferous portion of the American 
people. Five times presented as a candidate, he 
was always beaten, twice in convention and three 
times at the polls. 

" It was enough to ruin any man, body and 
soul," says Mr. Parton ; "but the most wonderful 
thing we have to say of Henry Clay is that, such 
were his native sincerity and healthfulness of mind, 



HENRY CLAY. 287 

he came out of this fiery trial still a patriot and a 
man of honor." 

So ardent and splendid a party chief always 
makes enemies. The crowds cheered for "The mill 
hoy of the Slashes " and " Harry of the West," as 
they loved to call their magnetic leader; hut he 
always failed either of nomination or election. 
P^'or twenty-six years the prize of the presidency 
dangled before the eyes of Henry Clay, only to be 
snatched away by less able men, and always to 
accomplish the desire he had more at heart — har- 
mony and union. 

" I had rather be right than president," he said, 
and there is no shadow of doubt that he meant this 
honestly, and displayed in his life those qualities 
of loyalty to the will of the majority wliich stamp 
as the real lover of his country the man who can 
accept disappointments without a murmur, and take 
defeat gracefully. 

He served his country faithfully and well, and 
if he held the laudable desire to serve the Republic 
as its chief magistrate no one should belittle or 
criticise that ambition. 

" Mr. Clay might have been elected," Horace 
Greeley avers, " if his prominent, earnest supporters 
had made the requisite exertions and sacrifices ; 
and I cannot but bitterly feel that great and last- 
ing public calamities would thereby have been 
averted." 

" If to have served my country during a long 



288 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

series of years," said Henry Clay, as he reviewed 
his honorable career, " with fervent zeal and 
unshaken fidelity, in seasons of peace and war, at 
home and abroad, in the legislative halls and in an 
executive department ; if to have labored most 
sedulously to avert the embarrassment and distress 
which now overspread this Union, and when they 
came, to have exerted myself anxiously to devise 
healing remedies ; if to have desired to introduce 
economy and reform in the general administration, 
curtail enormous executive power, and amply pro- 
vide at the same time for the wants of the govern- 
ment and the wants of the people, by a tariff whicli 
would give it revenue and then protection ; if to 
have earnestl}^ sought to establish the briglit l)ut 
too rare example of a party in power faithful to its 
promises and j^ledges made when out of power ; if 
these services, exertions, and endeavors justify the 
accusation of ambition I must plead guilty to tlie 
charge." 

It was an honorable and fearless challenge to 
the world, and no man could disprove it ; it was a 
long record of service to the Republic faithfully 
performed, and the old " hero of the forum " could 
retire to his beautiful Ashland, his big Kentucky 
farm near Lexington, satisfied at least that, as he 
himself declared, he had never attempted to gain 
the good opinion of the world " by any low or 
grovelling arts, by any mean or unworthy sacrifices, 
by the violation of any of the obligations of honor, 



HENRY CLAY. 289 

or by a breach of any of the duties which I owed 
to m}" country." 

But even this retirement was not permitted to 
continue. At the age of seventy-two he was again 
sent to the Senate (in the year 1849), there to labor 
for and effect the last and famous compromise of 
1850. Then he died, his duty done, his life-work 
accomplished, his record complete. He lies, to-day, 
beneath the towering marble shaft that springs 
from the green turf of the Lexington cemetery, in 
the beautiful blue-grass region that he loved so well, 
and on the base of the monument, which is topped 
by the ever-familiar figure of the great peacemaker, 
are carved these words, prepared by him as a mes- 
sage to his countrymen : 

" I can with unshaken confidence appeal to the 
divine Arbiter for the truth of the declaration that 
I have l)een influenced by no impure purpose, no 
personal motive, have sought no personal aggran- 
dizement, but that in all my public acts I have had 
a sole and single eye, and a warm, devoted heart, 
directed and dedicated to what, in my best judg- 
ment, I believe to be the true interests of my coun- 

try." 

That inscription no man to-day will question. 
The feuds and animosities of the years in which 
he lived have long since died away and only the 
memory of the gracious presence, the fascinating 
manners, the musical voice, the kindly courtesy, 
and the devoted patriotism of Henry Clay remain. 



290 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

He was a notable figure in the history of the Repub- 
lic. Imperious, headstrong, brilliant, imaginative, 
restless under advice, impatient under criticism, he 
lacked caution as a leader and accuracy as a guide. 
Though fearless as a party chieftain he fought 
mostly for peace and compromise, and though ambi 
tious for the presidency he desired it for national 
rather than personal ends. A statesman and not a 
politician, he hated selfishness in office and greed 
in public trust, so that his integrity as a man and a 
citizen is free from spot or stain. Beloved by hosts 
of foUowere, his record is that of a great historic 
American, and his life and labors will ever live, an 
honored chapter in the story of the Republic he 
loved so devotedly and served so faithfully. 



XXI. 



THE STORY OF JOHN CALDWELL CAL- 
HOUN, OB^ SOUTH CAROLINA, 

CALLED "THE GREAT NULLIFIER." 



Born near Abbeville, South Carolina, March 18, 1782. 
Died at Washington, March 31, 1850. 

'■'■ It was his solemn conviction that throughout his life he 
had faithfully done his duty, both to the Union and to his sec- 
tion. . . . But, in perfect good faith, he had undertaken 
what no man could accomplish, because it was a physical and 
moral impossibility." — Hermann. Edward von Hoist. 

This is the story of a failure. But as nothing 
that God created or allowed is ever really a failure 
it is also the story of success. Let me try to tell 
you how the life of John Caldwell Calhoun was 
both a failure and a success. 

On the fourth of November, 1811, there came to 
the House of Representatives in Washington as 
one of the congressmen from South Carolina a tall, 
thin, large-headed, and heavy-haired young Southern 
gentleman of twenty-nine of whom little was known 
except that he was a lawyer of Abbeville, in the 
upper counties of South Carolina, a graduate of 
Yale College, a bright and able young fellow of 

291 



292 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

whom his classmates had declared that some day- 
he was likely to become president of the United 
States, so logical was his mind, so strong his con- 
viction, so marked his character as a born leader of 
men. 

He had not, as yet, had much experience in 
leadership. The son of an Irish- American farmer of 
the Abbeville district, his home life had been quiet 
and simple, and his schooling but imperfect until 
he had reached his eighteenth year. His character 
was rather that of the lonely, thoughtful, medita- 
tive boy than the careless, happy, healthy com- 
rade of other boys as mischievous and natural as 
he. He loved the solitary ramble in the woods 
more than the stirring life of town or village, and 
being but little with those of his own age he grew 
to be quiet and self-contained, but also to have so 
firm a faith in the exactness of his own decisions 
and conclusions that he could not admit the truth 
of any opposition. 

To Yale went this positive young South Carolina 
boy at eighteen, so well prepared by two years of 
preparatory study that he entered the junior class, 
graduating with honor and with the reputation of 
being a temperate, honest, orderly, and good young 
man in every way, but without an atom of fun in 
his constitution. Indeed, it is said of him that he 
never made a joke in his life and had no more idea 
of humor than he had of football — of which he 
knew nothing. 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 293 

After a course in the Law School he went back 
to his Southern home to set up for himself in the 
practice of the law, but just at that time came the 
outrageous attack by the British frigate " Leopard " 
upon the United States man-of-war "Chesapeake." 
This affair stirred the Americans of 1806 quite as 
deeply as did the affair of the " Maine " in 1898, 
and set the newspapers to threatening and the orators 
to speaking, then as now. It drew a speech from 
young John Caldwell Calhoun before his incensed 
neighbors of Abbeville, and they liked his speech so 
well that they elected him to the State Legislature, 
and a few years later by a very large majority he 
was sent to Congress. 

Six weeks after he took his seat in Congress Mr. 
Calhoun made a speech in favor of the war with 
England, towards which the country was speedily 
drifting. The speech was deemed so strong and 
convincing that this young member from South 
Carolina- was considered a "find" and was speedily 
pushed forward until he became one of the leaders 
of the war party in Congress, and, as such, prepared 
and reported a set of resolutions pledging the Re- 
public to war, because, as his resolutions expressed 
it, " We must now tamely and quietly submit or we 
nuist resist by those means which God has placed 
within our reach. . . . The period has arrived 
when it is the sacred duty of Congress to call forth 
the patriotism and resources of the country." 

So, President Madison was forced into the war 



294 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of 1812, and young Mr. Calhoun continued through- 
out its most earnest advocate, demanding vigorous 
action. 

" We have had a peace like a war," he declared. 
" In the name of Heaven let us not have the only 
thing that is worse — a war like a peace ! " 

He was one of the most practical if one of the 
most energetic of the war-shouters ; for he learned 
a lesson from the disasters of 1812, and he advocated 
preparation for war, while others delayed or post- 
poned action, or wished to let well enough alone. 
Calhoun pleaded for an increased navy, as " the most 
safe, most effectual, and cheapest mode of defence ; " 
he advocated internal improvements as the best way 
of bringing the people of all sections of the country 
closer together ; and railroads not being then known 
or thought of, he said : " Let us make great perma- 
nent roads ; not like the Romans with the view of 
subjecting and ruling provinces, but for the more 
honorable purposes of defence, and of connecting 
more closely the interests of different sections of 
the country." 

In all this, you see, Calhoun was at that time as 
ardent a nationalist as Clay or Webster. How 
sad that selfishness and sectionalism should have 
led him from the paths of patriotism to those of 
disunion ! 

For they did. Gradually, under various influ- 
ences, the nature of Calhoun grew straitened and 
limited, and the man who said at one time in the 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 295 

halls of Congress that " the liberty and union of this 
country are inseparable," and that "the single word 
' disunion ' comprehends almost the sum of our polit- 
ical dangers against which we should be perpetu- 
ally guarded," changed into the man who could 
say later in life : " It is a great and dangerous 
error to suppose that all people are equally entitled 
to liberty," and, also, " The conditions impelling the 
government towards disunion are very powerful." 

He came into this change through a selfish regard 
for the interests of his own section rather than of 
the whole Union, but chiefly because he saw what, 
years after, Abraham Lincoln saw and put into 
his terse and vigorous speech : " This nation cannot 
endure half slave and half free," and " ' a house 
divided against itself cannot stand.' " 

Calhoun saw this as early as 1830; he knew that 
already the question of slavery had split the Union 
into two sections ; and as an advocate of slavery 
and a firm defender of what he thought to be the 
needs and the rights of his section he openly 
declared that " The great dissimilarity and, as I 
must add, as truth compels me to do, contrariety of 
interests in our country, are so great that they 
cannot be subjected to the unchecked will of a 
majority of the whole without defeating the great 
end of government, without which it is a curse, — 
justice." 

So, you see, Calhoun came to believe, at last, so 
thoroughly in State sovereignty and State rights 



296 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

that lie came very near to breaking up the Union 
which had elevated and honored him. 

He occupied high positions in the councils of the 
Republic. He was a congressman from 1811 to 
1817; he was secretary of war, in President Mon- 
roe's Cabinet, from 1817 to 1825; he was twice 
vice-president of the United States, from 1825 to 
1833; he was United States senator from 1833 to 
his death in 1850, broken only by his brief term as 
secretary of state under President Tyler in 1845. 

And he earnestly desired to be president. Like 
those other "giants of the forties," Daniel Webster 
and Henry Clay, he yearned for the presidency, but 
never reached it. There are indeed numerous sim- 
ilarities, we might almost say coincidences, in 
the careers of those three great senators. Each 
was a leader, each aspired to the highest place in 
the Republic, and each failed of success. They 
were all born in the same period, about 1780; they 
all died in the same period, about 1850. But in 
personal characteristics they were as dissimilar as 
they were in appearance and methods of statesman- 
ship. A comparative study of their lives will, how- 
ever, be found of great interest, for their positions 
Avere equally prominent and their influence equally 
great. 

It was while he was vice-president that he for- 
sook the national faith that had marked his entrance 
into public life for that sectional faith to which the 
last twenty years of his life were devoted. 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 297 

Even ill this change he was honest and consist- 
ent. He had seen for years that the question of 
slavery was to be the thing upon which union or 
disunion was to turn, and as he beheved that 
the Southern States could have no successful future 
without slavery he devoted all his great powers to 
maintaining that institution and to forcing the 
Northern States either to yield or to agree to a 
separation. " His veering round was gradual," 
says Mr. von Hoist, " because it was not done to 
serve some impure personal end, but was the result 
of an honest change in his opinions. After it had 
once begun it went steadily on without pausing 
for a single moment, because he had taken his 
stand on a principle, and followed up the conse- 
quences of it with masterly logic and fatalistic 
sternness of purpose." 

We honor the man who has what we call the 
courage of his convictions. John Caldwell Cal- 
houn certainly had this courage. So, while we 
deplore and abhor his belief and his methods, we 
can still admit that he acted from what seemed to 
him right motives. Even though he was the chief 
and most eloquent advocate of slavery, he was so, 
as has been said, from principle, and even if we hate 
his conclusiolis we must honor his integrity. No 
man ever questioned his sincerity, even those who 
battled the hardest against his views and methods. 

His first, in fact his main, battle was upon the 
question of State rights. Calhoun held that each 



298 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

State was an independent power and that it had the 
right, under the Constitution, to act for itself on 
supreme questions, even to act contrary to a hiw of 
tlie nation, — in other words, to regard such a hiw 
as null and void. From that comes the word " nul- 
lification," that, from 1830 to 1840, played so great 
a part in American history, and which, because in 
him it had its stanchest advocate and supporter, 
gained for John C. Calhoun the name of " the Great 
Nullifier." 

1 have told you that he had the courage of his 
convictions. He certainly had. He boldly claimed 
that if the slave-holding States continued in the 
Union slavery would have to be given up by them, 
and for this honest declaration he was as vehe- 
mently accused of trying to stir up trouble as were 
even Charles Sumner and his fellow-workers for 
anti-slavery. So, while other law-makers tried to 
compromise and fix up things between the States, 
while Webster made his grand plea for liberty and 
union, while Clay sought to unite by yielding, John 
C. Calhoun spoke " right out in meeting," as the 
old saying runs, and boldly and bravely stated his 
belief. 

We can almost see him now as he rises in his 
place in the Senate, that tall, straigRt, unbending 
South Carolinian, a "cast-iron man," Miss Marti- 
neau called him, " who looks as if he had never been 
born and could never be extinguished." Above a 
straight, clear forehead rises the stiff shock of up- 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 299 

right, dark hair; the eyes are intense, the brow 
stern, the mouth marked with will and determina- 
tion. He speaks with the sincerity of truth and the 
pathos of regret ; but his- voice, harsh and unmusical, 
is yet tremulous with earnestness and conviction. 

" We love and cherish the Union," he says ; " we 
remember with the kindest feelings our common 
origin, with pride our common achievements, and 
fondly anticipate the common greatness and glory 
that seem to await us. But origin, achievements, 
and anticipation of common greatness are to us as 
nothing compared with this question. It is to us 
a vital question. It involves not only our liberty, 
but what is greater (if to freemen anything can be) 
— existence itself. The relation which now exists 
between the two races in the slave-holding States has 
existed for two centuries. It has grown with our 
growth and strengthened with our strength. It 
has entered into and modified all our institutions, 
civil and political. None other can be substituted. 
We will not, cannot, permit it to be destroyed. 
Come what will, should it cost every drop of blood 
and every cent of property, we must defend our- 
selves ; and if compelled, Ave would stand justified 
by all laws, human and divine ; we would act under 
an imperious necessity. There would be to us but 
one alternative — to triumph or perish as a people. 
I ask neither sympathy nor compassion for the 
slave- holding States. We can take care of our- 
selves. It is not we but the Union which is in 



300 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

danger. We cannot remain here in an endless 
struggle in defence of our character, our property 
and institutions." 

That does not sound much like Webster's grand 
plea for liberty and union, does it? It rang with 
the notes of warning and of defiance. But it was a 
threat, and not an appeal. It was a prophecy, too, 
that found its climax and counterpart in the grand 
words of Lincoln's second inaugural — words as 
deep, as forceful, as instinct with courage, determi- 
nation, and assurance as had been these defiant and 
prophetic words of the " Great Nullifier," thirty 
years before. 

" Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray," said 
Abraham Lincoln, " that this mighty scourge of 
war may speedily pass away ; yet if God wills tliat 
it continue until all the wealth piled by the bond- 
man's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited 
toil shall be sunk, and every drop of blood drawn 
by the lash shall be paid by another drawn by 
the sword, — as was said three thousand years ago, 
— so it must still be said, 'the judgments of the 
Lord are true and righteous altogether.' " 

Calhoun was a far-seeing man. He was un- 
doubtedly the deepest thinker and the mightiest 
intellect of his day in the Southern States, and he 
alone, of all his associates, could look ahead and see 
the very thing that came to pass — an attempt to 
sever the Union of the States because of differences 
in regard to slavery. 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 301 

He did not desire disunion ; he was not an advo- 
cate of secession. But he did desire a union of the 
shxve-holding States so strong and so determined as 
to overawe the North ; he did advocate such meas- 
ures as should force the quarrel upon the Northern 
States so that they and not the Southern States 
should seem to the world to be in the wrong ; and 
he placed slavery as the need and very life of the 
South above all other considerations, because he 
honestly believed that only with slavery could pros- 
perity and success be secured to his section of the 
Union. So he bent all his energies to that one end 
— the strengthening and extension of slavery. 
For that purpose he worked for the annexation of 
Texas ; he labored to force slavery into the Terri- 
tories and prevent the passage of any laws that 
should keep it out. For that reason, too, he opposed 
war with Mexico and labored against a third war 
Avith England over the Oregon boundaries in 1848, 
because he feared that these would divert the atten- 
tion of the South from its own personal concerns and 
unite the North in a way that would defeat his sec- 
tional desires. Selfish or not, it was largely to John 
C. Calhoun's influence and action that this unnec- 
essary war with England was averted, and for this the 
Republic owes him recognition, thanks, and honor. 

More clearly than any other of the leaders in 
the South Calhoun saw that the steady tendency of 
the North was towards the abolition of slavery — 
even though the North itself did not recognize the 



302 HISTORIC 'AMERICANS. 

gi-adual growth of that current of opinion ; and all 
his last years were shadowed by the knowledge that 
his efforts had been in vain, and his bold and out- 
spoken stand had brought him only failure. 

Broken in health and weak in body, he fought for 
his pet theory until the last. Sectional instead of 
national in his love, narrow and limited in his 
views, holding what he called allegiance to his State 
as above loyalty to the Union, and counting the 
establishment of slavery as the highest good, as 
well as the supreme duty of the South, he stood to 
the last, honest in his convictions, firm in his imv- 
poses, bold in his utterances. It is well for all 
Americans, old and young, to remember this, and to 
know that, though mistaken in his opinions, and 
absolutely wrong in liis exertions, he did his duty 
as he saw it, and lived up to his convictions like an 
upright, sincere, and thoroughly honest man. 

"If I know myself, even if my head were at 
stake, I would do my duty," he declared in the 
Senate of the United States. " I would do my duty, 
be the consequences what they might." 

The very last words of the very last speech 
which he, weak and almost dying, made in the 
Senate on the fourth of March, 1850, were in the 
same vein : " Having faithfully done my duty to 
the best of my abilit}^ both to the Union and to my 
section, throughout this agitation, I shall have the 
consolation, let what will come, that I am free from 
all responsibility." 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 303 

It was this speech, this last firm utterance of a 
great man, wrong headed but thoroughly convinced 
that he and he alone was right, that led Daniel 
Webster to say of this determined man : " There 
was not one of us who did not feel that we might 
imagine that we saw before us a Senator of Rome 
when Rome survived." 

But Rome fell, and with its fall came, in time, 
the enlightenment, the progress, and the upward 
trend of man. And even in his failure John C. 
Calhoun helped on the growth and bettering of the 
world. 

He left the Senate to die. On the thirty-first of 
March, 1850, he died in the city of Washington, 
where so much of his life had been passed, and 
where he had waged so valiantly a losing fight for 
a doomed and fading evil. 

" The South ! The poor South ! " were almost 
his last words, " God knows what will become of 
her." And so he died. 

God in his infinite mercy did know what would 
become of the "poor South" for which Calhoun 
battled so gallantly. Through blood and teai"s the 
God to whom this great champion made his last 
despairing cry brought the South through night to 
light ; and in the freedom of man, which, as the 
twentieth century dawns, is the boon and blessing 
of the great Republic, the South already sees the 
best and surest foundation for the Union's grand 
and successful future. And as the years go by, the 



304 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

South herself will be the first to see and appre- 
ciate that what John C. Calhoun deemed failure 
and disaster has j^roved instead a glorious and last- 
ing success. 

" I hold it truth with him who sings 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

Upon the lives and labor of such stepping-stones 
as Calhoun and his honest supporters in a mistaken 
theory the new South has climbed upward to free- 
dom, security, and loyalty. 

The life story of John Caldwell Calhoun is that 
of an apparent failure worked out in ways he 
could not see to beneficial ends and final success. 
It is that of an earnest and honest endeavor to- 
wards what he deemed just, wise, and patriotic ends. 
Success depends largely upon the point of view, and 
though to his standpoint the world has applied the 
verdict, " A mistake," yet we must not forget that 
Calhoun was a famous and historic American, 
South Carolina's most eminent son, a man who has 
built himself into the life and traditions of the 
Republic. 

" He had the basis, the indispensable basis," said 
Daniel Webster, " of all high character, and that 
was unspotted integrity, unimpeached honor, and 
character. There was nothing grovelling or low or 
meanly selfish that came near the head or the heart 
of John C. Calhoun." 



XXII. 

THE STORY OF SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE 
MORSE, OF NEW YORK, 

CALliED " THE FATHER OF AMERICAN 
TELEGRAPHY." 



Born at Charlestown, Massachusetta, April 27, 1791. 
Died in New York City, April 2, 1872. 



'•"We raise this statue, not to buried but to living merit" — to 
a great discoverer who yet sits among us, a witness of honors 
which are but the first fruits of that ample harvest which his 
memory will gather in the long season yet to come." — William 
Cullen Bryant {at dedication of Morse Statue in New York). 

The good ship " Sully," ocean packet between 
Havre and New York, was cleaving its way through 
mid-ocean one autumn morning in the year 1832. 
One by one the passengers appeared at the break- 
fast-table in the long saloon, exchanging greetings, 
as those whom the daily associations of those long 
ocean voyages in the days of packets and clippers 
made into acquaintances and friends. 

One whom all seemed to know well was missing 
from the table. 

" Where 's Morse ? " one passenger inquired, 
voicing the query of all. 
305 



306 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

"Late again this morning,"** replied another. 
" I don't believe the man has slept a wink for 
nights." 

" How 's that ? Thinking out another picture ? " 

" No, he 's puttering aAvay at that new scheme of 
his to make a machine that will talk." 

" Oh, groAving out of that magnetism nonsense, 
eh ? Well, my advice to him is to let it alone. He 'd 
better stick to pictures, I say. He 's good for some- 
thing as an historical painter; but that magnetism 
business is just a loss of time. Singular, is n't it, 
how men will be led away into such vagaries ? 
Magnetism is nothing more than witchcraft. I '11 
wager that if Morse had lived a couple of hundred 
yeare ago they would have pressed or burned him 
for witchcraft, in Salem. He lives in Salem, 
doesn 't he ? " 

"No, no, in Charlestown, next place to Boston, 
you know." 

" Well, that was near enough to Salem to count 
in witchcraft days. I don't believe in this magnetic 
business. It 's sheer folly, if it is n't wickedness." 

" That 's narrow talk for an American in these 
enlightened days. I 've talked with Morse consider- 
ably, and I believe he 's got a practical idea. We 
were discussing the matter the other day and he 
explained how if you break a current of electricity 
you make a spark ; break it again and you make 
more sparks. 'Now,' says he, 'if the presence of 
electricity can be made visible in any part of the 



SAMUEL FIN LEY BREESE MORSE. 307 

circuit I can see no reason why intelligence may 
not be transmitted by electricity.' " 

" Transmitting intelligence ! Now, is n't that 
absurd ? As if any mere machine, or any making 
of sparks, could carry thoughts ! I call it nonsense. 
It 's more than that, it 's sacrilegious ! The man who 
tries such a thing is tampering with Divine attri- 
butes, and that is sacrilege." 

" Well, sacrilege or not, Morse has got hold of an 
idea and is working it to some end. His note-boolis 
are filled with marks which he tells me is what he 
calls a code, — representations of letters and figures, 
— which he claims can be made by electricity and 
communicated from one point to another by his 
magnetic cm-rent. Is n't that so, senator?" 

"It certainly is," the man addressed as senator 
replied, " and I agree with you that Morse is work- 
ing towards some practical end. It is practical, I 
am certain. I saw some applications of these electro- 
magnetic sparks in France that were most remark- 
able. Morse showed me some drafts in this cabin 
the other night which certainly indicated that he had 
a definite plan in his head, though I don't precisely 
see how he can adapt it. But he says, for instance, 
a spark represents one sign ; the absence of a spark 
may represent another ; the time of its absence still 
another. Combine these signs and you can make 
an alphabet. ' This instrument I have in mind,' he 
said, ' will record this alphabet at a distance, and 
spell it into words. If I can do it across one mile 



308 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

of space,' he went on, ' I can do it over ten. Why, 
the sea, the ocean itself, need be no barrier. If I 
can make it go ten miles without stopping I can 
make it go around the globe.' It's a great idea, 
gentlemen," the senator concluded, " but whether 
it can be made feasible or practical I am not able 
to say." 

The passenger who had no faith in such tamper- 
ings with Providence was on the point of emphasiz- 
ing objections when a new-comer took his seat at 
the table. He was a singularly attractive man : tall, 
erect, and firm of bearing, slender in person, and 
graceful in figure, his face expressed refinement, 
dignity, intellectuality, and delicate sensibility. 
This especial morning his face showed unmistak- 
able signs of pleasurable triumph. 

" Good morning, gentlemen ; good morning, sena- 
tor," he said. " I have something to show you, sir, 
after breakfast. I believe I have got it at last." 

" Got what, Mr. Morse, — that idea of yours in a 
definite shape?" queried the senator. 

" Yes, sir, I believe I have equalled the miracle 
of Puck, and shall be able to put a girdle round the 
earth in forty minutes," Morse replied. " At last I 
have drawn out a plan of an electric telegraph." 

At once his friends clamored for an exhibition 
of his results, and nothing loth, never attempting 
secrecy, the courteous inventor spread out his paj)ers 
upon the swaying table of the " Sully's " saloon 
and showed to those that crowded about him a draw- 




SPREAD OUT HIS PAPERS UPON THE SWAYING TABLE. 



SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE. 309 

ing of the instrument which, so he dechired, would 
compel a current of electricity to pass instan- 
taneously along a far-reaching wire, stretched to 
any distance, and to record the signs which the 
despatcher desired to convey. 

Few of his fellow-voyagers could grasp his whole 
idea, nor did they believe in his scheme ; but years 
after, when Samuel Finley Breese Morse con- 
structed a machine which embodied the mechani- 
cal principles now in use all over the world, under 
the name of the electric or magnetic telegraph, 
they recognized that it was a practical adaptation 
of those very drawings which, after sleepless nights 
of thinking and planning, Professor Morse had 
spread out for their inspection upon the table in 
the cabin of the packet ship " Sully," in the month- 
of October, 1832. 

It was a long and hard road to success that 
Samuel Finley Breese Morse was called upon to 
travel, and he met with many adventures by the 
way. Indeed, few lives of those not really adven- 
turers are more checkered with romance and ac- 
tion, failure and success. 

His father was a well-known clergyman, educa- 
tor, and geography-maker of Charlestown, Mass. ; 
and in that old and historic town, at the very foot 
of Breed's hill, whereon was fought the battle called 
Bunker hill, in a house still standing and suitably 
marked with a memorial tablet, Samuel F. B. 
Morse was born on the twenty-seventh of April, 



310 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

1791. It was the first dwelling-house built in 
Charlestown after the British burned the town as 
a "side light" to their disastrous victory at Bunker 
hill ; and in the right front chamber on the sec- 
ond floor the " Father of American Telegraphy " 
was born as the eldest son of " the Fatlier of Amer- 
ican Geography." At fourteen years of age he 
was sent to Yale College, and there, under the 
instruction of such makers of American science as 
Professors Day and Silliman, he developed a taste 
for electrical studies then attracting attention and 
investigation on both sides of the Atlantic. 

But his tastes at that time showed a still stronger 
bent toward art, and after his graduation from col- 
lege he deliberately chose the profession of artist, 
and spent several years in Europe, under the in- 
struction and direction of those famous Americans, 
AUston and Copley and West. He attained ex- 
traordinary success, for so young a man, as an his- 
torical painter, winning medals and prizes for his 
work, and having before him the promise of great 
success as a painter of historical subjects. 

With this prestige, and with a reputation already 
secured, Morse sailed for America in 1815, and set 
up a studio as a Boston artist. But although 
every one admired his paintings neither orders 
nor customers came to him, and when, at last, pa- 
tience and money were exhausted, Morse actually 
" took to the road " and started through New Eng- 
land as a travelling portrait painter. 



SAMUEL FIN LEY BREESE MORSE. 311 

This gave him a career, for if the American peo- 
ple did not care, as yet, for the " Judgment of Ju- 
piter," and such allegorical or historical paintings, 
they were vain enough to desire portraits, if they 
were only " life-like." Morse's work evidently 
reached this standard of excellence, for his por- 
traits sold and his prices gradually rose from ten 
and fifteen dollars to sixty dollars each, while a 
tour tlirough the South resulted in so much cus- 
tom that in 1818 he was earning three thousand 
dollars a year, and could afford to marry. 

He lived in Charleston, S.C, and in Washing- 
ton, where he almost wrecked himself financially 
on a grand exhibition painting of the yet unfinished 
Capitol and the still unappreciated historical sub- 
jects. Then, at last, he drifted to New York, 
where he engaged again in portrait painting, which 
seemed to be his especial forte, and again winning 
success and fame, became a resident of New York 
City for the rest of his life. 

It was there, in 1826, that he founded the 
National Academy of Design, to-day one of the 
art centres of the world. Morse was its first presi- 
dent, and continued in that office for sixteen years, 
acknowledged as the leading American artist of 
his day. 

It was during that time also that he made the visit 
to Europe from which he was returning when we 
were first introduced to him as a would-be inventor 
in the dining-saloon of the packet ship "Sully ; " and 



312 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

when he reached New York he found that, during 
his absence, he had been elected professor of the 
literature of the arts of design in the University 
of New York. 

But he had returned also to a divided duty. For 
there was developing in his soul a yearning towards 
success in the line which, from his college days, 
had occupied a large share of his thought and 
study — communication by electricity ; that won- 
derful discovery from which sprang at last the 
marvellous electric telegraph. 

This investigation had received a fresh impetus 
through some of his associations with scientific 
people in New York, and his acceptance of the 
professorship in the New York University was 
identical with his determination to work to com- 
pletion the plans he had sketched out on ship- 
board. 

But when, in July, 1837, he had reached a certain 
amount of success in his experiments, and had set 
up in one of the rooms of the university two tele- 
graphic instruments by which he was able to com- 
municate through seventeen hundred feet of copper 
wire the signs of his self-made code, even then 
people were not ready to accept the demonstration 
as a great, practical, or really useful invention. 
They looked upon the telegraph as an entertaining 
toy, but they did not believe it could ever be made 
to amount to anything, either as a means of real 
communication or as a profitable investment. 



SAMUEL FIN LEY BREESE MORSE. 313 

The Congress of the United States took the 
same view of the invention ; for when, in Sep- 
tember, 1837, Professor Moi-se asked Congress to 
a^opropriate a sum of money sufficient for him to 
build a Hue of telegraph long enough for him to 
experiment on a real telegraph line and establish 
its value and worth. Congress would take no 
notice of the request, even though the committee 
to whom it was referred favored the experiment. 

Disheartened at his failure to be appreciated in 
his own land, Morse raised enough money to take 
him to Europe for the purpose of endeavoring to 
interest some foreign government in his enterprise. 
He nearly ruined himself in this attempt, for it 
also proved fruitless. The governments of Europe 
would have nothing to do with his invention, al- 
though France did grant him a patent on his instru- 
ment and then deliberately stole the patent. 

He returned to America disappointed and almost 
penniless, but still full of determination and cer- 
tain of ultimate success. Again he besieged Con- 
gress for recognition and aid, and again Congress 
ignored and ridiculed him. He asked for an 
appropriation of thirty thousand dollars for the 
purpose of experimenting over a long-distance wire, 
and the House, from the Speaker to the clerk, 
simply made fun of the suggestion, although there 
were many members sufficiently impressed by the 
earnestness and ability of this painter turned peti- 
tioner to feel willing to try the experiment. But 



314 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

the cheap wit and open sarcasm of the congress- 
men seemed destined to defeat the Ijill, and the dis- 
pirited inventor prepared to leave Washington and 
his hopes of success. 

There came, however, a sufficient reaction in his 
favor to enable the House to pass the bill by a 
majority of six. But it must go to the Senate for 
approval, and when the last hours of the last day of 
the session arrived there were one hundred and 
nineteen bills ahead of Morse's petition, and no 
chance for recognition. 

To fail of action meant the death of the bill, the 
defeat of all his hopes, and Morse sorrowfully con- 
cluded that all his labors and efforts had been in 
vain. 

He had watched all day from the visitors' gallery 
in the Senate for some sio-n that his matter miofht 
be reached before adjournment, but none appeared, 
and as the night wore on Morse gave up in despair 
and went to his lodging, prepared to leave for New 
York, in defeat, the next morning. 

The morning came, but ]\Iorse did not go to New 
York, for as he entered the breakfast-room a young 
girl greeted him. 

" Good morning, Professor Morse," she exclaimed. 
"Allow me to congratulate you." 

" Congratulate me ? " replied the disconsolate 
inventor. " Why should you congratulate me, my 
dear?" 

" Why, don't you know ? " said the surprised 



SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE. 315 

girl — Miss Lizzie Ellsworth, whose father was the 
commissioner of patents. " Don't you know 
your bill had passed ? " 

" Impossible, Lizzie ! " cried the professor. " I 
was in the Senate until late last night and there 
was no chance for it." 

"But there was, professor," persisted the girl, 
delighted to be the bearer of good tidings. " Father 
stayed until the session closed and he has sent me to 
tell you that your bill was the very last one to be 
acted on, and was passed just five minutes before 
Congress adjourned. I 'm so glad to be the first one 
to tell you ! And — oh, yes ! mother says you must 
come home with me to breakfast." 

"My dear child," said the delighted inventor, 
clasping both her hands, "you have brought me 
good news indeed. I '11 tell you what, Lizzie ! If 
it 's so, when that line of telegraph is opened you 
shall send the first despatch." 

And so she did. For when, with thirty thousand 
dollars at his disposal. Professor Morse set about 
building his experimental line of telegraph between 
Baltimore and Washington, he remembered his 
promise to Lizzie Ellsworth. On the twenty-fourth 
of May, 1844, the line was declared completed and 
Morse prepared for his final and public test. Strung 
from pole to pole, the electric wire stretched from 
Washington to Baltimore, and in the chamber of 
the Supreme Court in the Capitol the instrument 
was set up from which the line ran out. 



316 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

The Ellsworth girl was all excitement. 

" Do tell me what to say, mother, if Professor 
Morse really lets me send the message," she said. 

And her mother, who knew her Bible Avell, sug- 
gested, " Try the twentj^-third chapter of Numbers, 
child, the twenty-third verse." 

The girl looked up the passage, and standing 
beside Professor Morse at his instrument in the 
Supreme Court chamber Lizzie Ellsworth ticked 
out on the key-board the solemn but jubilant text, 
" What hath God wrought!" 

God had wrought much — very much, for science, 
for civilization, and mankind through the patience 
and persistence of this determined and undaunted 
inventor, through twelve long years of experiment- 
ing, disappointment, and discouragement. But he 
had also wrought much for Samuel Finley Breese 
Morse. For that final triumph brouglit to him 
fame and fortune. 

It did not come all at once, however. Even 
though he had proved the value of his invention, 
that value was neither appreciated nor acknowl- 
edged. A further appro[)riation was asked to 
extend the line to Philadelphia and New York, 
but it was refused as impracticable. It was even 
claimed that the trial test was valueless. Morse 
offered to sell the line and the rights to the Govern- 
ment for one hundred thousand dollars, claiming 
that the Government sliould own and control the 
telegraph just as it did tlie post-ofllce. This, too, 



SAMUEL FIN LEY BREESE MORSE. 317 

was refused, the postmaster-general declaring that 
the revenues of the telegraph could never be made 
to equal its expenditures ! Think of that decision, 
to-day, when the telegraph lines in the United 
States have made great fortunes for their owners 
and are worth vast sums of money ! 

Like all inventors, Morse, too, was forced to fight 
for his rights in the patents and to establish his 
claim as the real inventor of the electric telegraph ; 
and it is a part of tins story to record that the cap- 
tain and passengers of the packet ship "■ Sully," to 
whom Professor Morse had exhibited and explained 
his drawings, were able by their testimony to prove 
his rights to the invention which they had first 
seen in his sketch-book in the cabin of the " Sully." 

Once firmly established in his rights, and having 
proved alike the worth and value of his invention, 
recognition and honors came to the successful in- 
ventor. The telegraph was adopted and used all 
over the world, and so great a factor in the world's 
work and in the world's progress was it seen to be 
that kings and countries united to do honor to the 
man who had made it possible. The .Sultan of 
Turkey, the Kings of Prussia and Wurtemberg, 
the Emperor of Austria, and the Emperor of the 
French honored and decorated this simple, modest 
American. Denmark and Spain, Italy and Por- 
tugal followed suit, and in 1858 the representa- 
tives of ten European sovereigns, assembled in 
special convention at Paris, voted a gift of eighty 



318 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

thousand dollars to Samuel Finley Breese Morse, 
the inventor of the electric telegraph. 

He was the first to suggest a marine cable, and, 
to prove its feasibility, experimented in laying one 
between the Battery and Governor's island in New 
York harbor ; he was interested in the lajdng of 
the first Atlantic cable in 1857 as a practical proof 
of the claim advanced by him in 1843 that "a tel- 
egraphic communication on the electro-magnetic 
plan may with certainty be established across the 
Atlantic ocean." 

" I am confident," he declared, " that the time 
will come when this project will be realized." 

To-day two oceans are crossed and seamed with 
cables, and the news of the world is read every 
morning in every civilized home : Hong Kong and 
Calcutta, London, Paris, and New York exchange 
the latest intelligence of their doings and happen- 
ings as calmly and easily as if they were neighbors 
exchanging gossip across a dividing fence. 

Upon one of the green lawns of beautiful Cen- 
tral park in New York City there stands a bronze 
statue of Moi-se, the inventor. On a bright spring 
day in 1871 that statue, reared by the contri- 
butions of the army of busy telegraph operators 
throughout the United States, was unveiled to the 
public, and Professor Morse, venerable and vener- 
ated, with his eighty years of useful life, was 
present, an honored guest. 

Again a young girl stood at the operating instru- 



SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE. 319 

ment, and, with her fingers on the key, sent a mes- 
sage to the ten thousand telegraphic instruments of 
America, all of which had been connected with that 
one in Central park. And thus the message ran : 

" Greeting and thanks to the telegraph fraternity 
throughout the world. Glory to God in the high- 
est, on earth peace, good-will to men ! " 

Here the girl paused, and a tall, erect, venerable 
man, with flowing white beard, and kindly, earnest 
face, stood by her side, and, touching the key, com- 
pleted the message with his signature: "S. F. B, 
Morse." 

It was the great inventor's greeting and message to 
the world — the message of love and peace which, 
all through his life, had been alike his nature and 
his desire. And as he stood there, dignified, but 
gratified by this world. Appreciation of his life- 
work, what wonder if, through his mind, there may 
not have passed the memory of that letter sent from 
his birthplace in Charlestown to the home of his 
grandfather in New Jersey, on that far-off April 
day of 1791 ! — "As to the child, ... he may 
have the sagacity of a Jewish rabbi, or the profund- 
ity of a Calvin, or the sublimity of a Homer, for 
aught I know ; but time will bring forth all things." 

Time, indeed, has spoken ; for that child has been 
of more value to the world than Gamaliel or Calvin 
or Homer. He brought the world in touch. He 
invented the telegraph ! 



XXIII. 
HORACE MANN, OF BOSTON, 

CALLED "THE FATHER OF THE COMMON 
SCHOOLS." 



Born at Franklin, Massachusetts, May 4, 1796. 
Died at Yellow Springs, Ohio, August 2, 1859. 



" I wish that the biography of Horace Mann might be known 
not only to the teachers of Normal schools, but to tlie pupils 
and to our innumerable staff of primary teachers. I wisli that it 
might be circulated among the professors of universities and 
colleges. ... I should like to see it in the hands of every 
public man." — Felix Pecaiit, the French educator. 

One day, away back in the year 1785, Dr. Ben- 
jamin Franklin, philosopher, statesman, and philan- 
thropist, at his home in Philadelphia, was advised 
that certain compatriots of his in his native State of 
Massachusetts had incorporated a town, not far 
from Boston, and had given to it, in his honor, the 
name of Franklin. 

As if this were not memorial enough, they de- 
cided to raise, as a sort of monument to the distin. 
guished doctor, a steeple on their meeting-house, 
and they forthwith wrote to the good old patriot 
that they would build such a steeple if he for whom 

320 



HORACE MANN. 321 

their town was named would hang in that steeple 
a bell. 

Now, the good and great Doctor Franklin Avas, 
above all things, eminently practical. A church 
steeple, he said, was an excellent thing, but it was 
not really a necessity to a meeting-house. Neither 
was a bell. The money that the bell and the 
steeple would cost might be used to better purpose, 
and "since sense is preferable to sound," he said, 
" I '11 make your town a gift of books instead of a 
bell, and you can save the expense of a steeple." 

The doctor's " amendment " was accepted, and 
instead of a bell the town of Franklin received from 
the godfather of their town a little library to the 
value of one hundred and twenty-five dollars, 
selected in London by Franklin's friend. Doctor 
Price, and including such books as were "most 
proper to inculcate the principles of sound religion 
and good government." 

To this little village library of stilted old his- 
tories and musty theologies there came, in 1806, to 
browse and feed, a poor farmer's boy.' His name 
was Horace Mann. His father was a sickly, con- 
sumptive man, with a small farm and intellectual 
tastes, neither of which he was able to satisfactorily 
cultivate. But he instilled into his boy a hatred of 
evil, of ignorance, and intemperance, and though he 
died early, taught his son by example rather than 
by words the excellence of intelligence and the 
value of moral worth. 



322 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But in that straitened home in Franklin, where 
on the fourth of May, 1796, Horace Mann was 
born, there was but scant opportunity for acquiring 
knowledge, and even less means to gratify an in- 
quiring mind. So, to this quiet, thoughtful, some- 
what morbid boy of ten the discovery of the meagre 
Franklin library was as a good mine to a "pros- 
pector." He worked it until the vein was exhausted; 
but, with it, he built into his very nature at once a 
love for books and reading, a desire for wider knowl- 
edge, an ardor for war and a worship of heroes 
which, though he afterwards criticised the enthu- 
siasm, yet made of him a hero and a fighter in the 
cause of justice and enlightenment. 

" Though this library consisted of old histories 
and theologies," he says, "suited perhaps to the 
taste of the ' conscript fathers ' of the town, but 
miserably adapted to the ' proscript ' children, yet 
I wasted my youthful ardor upon its martial pages, 
and learned to glory in war, which both reason and 
conscience have since taught me to consider almost 
universally a crime." 

But the spirit and intelligence which he drew 
even from the dry husks of this village library put 
into the lad an ambition and energy greater even 
than his rather frail system could bear ; for a boy 
who never had the time to play, who even earned his 
school books by braiding straw, and who was taught 
that fun was a foolish waste of time, and that ima- 
gination was " a snare to virtue," could hardly ex- 



HORACE MANN. 323 

pect to be the hearty, healthy, mischief-making, 
wide-awake, irrepressible boy which, after all, is 
most to be desired for man-building. 

Yet, in spite of these restrictions upon youth and 
health, Horace Mann became a great and historic 
American whose influence upon his century was 
almost incalculable. For out of his " hard lines " 
in boyhood, his lack of opportunities, liis miserable 
means of instruction, his teachers (" very good peo- 
ple, but very poor teachers," he tells us), his limita- 
tions, and his struggles, came the substantial realiza- 
tion of what he called his " boyish air castles " — to do 
something for the benefit of mankind. For, to-day, 
Horace Mann is acknowledged as the " Father of the 
American Common Schools," and millions of Ameri- 
can boys and girls have reason to cherish his memory 
and bless his name for making learning easier to 
them and education practical. 

And yet this man's life-story is one long battle 
with ill-health, weakness, discouragement, and dis- 
tress. Think how much he misfht have accom- 
plished had his boyhood been happy and healthy, 
or his manhood hearty and vigorous. For so strong 
was his desire to do good, and to put into execution 
his plans for the improvement of American children, 
that he repeatedly overtaxed his strength, struggled 
with exhaustion, grew really ashamed of ill-health, 
and absolutely flung away his own life for the sake 
of others, declaring that his life was not of so much 
consequence as the work in hand which he must 



324 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

and would accomplish. Was not that heroism ? and, 
in that spirit, was not Horace Mann as great a hero 
as Alexander Hamilton when he flung himself over 
the British abatis at Yorktown, as Lieutenant Gush- 
ing when he blew up the " Albemarle," or as the 
most daring of the gallant " Rough Riders " who 
charged up the hill of San Juan? As such a hero, 
all America should honor him. 

The simple story of his life does not read like a 
romance nor appear to contain even the germs of 
heroism. Born in Franklin, in 1796, reared in pov- 
erty, weakened by overwork, he yet fitted himself 
for college ; with but scanty time for schooling, 
and compelled to help support the family after 
his father's death, he was yet enabled to work his 
way through college, and to graduate from Brown 
University in 1819, the honor man of his class and 
his college. Leaving college, he studied law, became 
tutor and librarian at Brown, and finally, in 1823, 
was admitted to the bar, and became a lawyer, first 
in Dedham and later, in 1833, in Boston. 

He proved so able and careful a lawyer that he 
was rapidly winning success and fame when, in 
1827, and again in 1833, he was elected to the Mass- 
achusetts Legislature, where he took no interest 
in partisan politics, but evinced a deep interest in 
all public questions, especially in those touching 
civil, political, and religious liberty, charitable, 
benevolent, and temperance reforms, and particu- 
larly in educational matters ; which, as he felt 



HORACE MANN. 325 

even then, were in dire need of strengthening and 
reform. 

His efforts in behalf of education were untiring, 
and when, as president of the Senate of Massachu- 
setts, on the twentietli of April, 1837, he signed the 
bill authorizing the governor to appoint "eight 
persons who, together with the governor and lieu- 
tenant-governor, ex officiis, shall constitute and be 
denominated the Board of Education," he did an 
act upon which, as one of his biographers declares, 
" his whole after-life turned." 

For this Board of Education was in time duly 
appointed and organized to enter upon its hercu- 
lean task of revising and reorganizing the common- 
school system of Massachusetts, and Horace Mann, 
greatly to his surprise, was appointed secretary of 
the Board. 

" It is a most responsible and important office," 
he said ; " but for myself I never had a sleeping nor 
a waking dream that I should ever think of myself 
or be thought of by any other in relation to that 
station." 

It did, indeed, prove a most responsible and im- 
portant office. The secretary really was the Board 
— its director, its moving spirit, its servant, and its 
master as well, giving to it, for twelve years, so 
much of himself, his energy, his vitality, and his 
force that not only were the ends he aimed at finally 
accomplished, but his plans were so far-reaching, 
his methods so admirable, and his influence so 



326 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

great that, as Doctor Hinsdale has summed it up, 
" his influence extended to every State that shared 
in the early educational movement, and has since 
reached every State in the Union, while, even in 
foreign countries, his personality has been distinctly 
recognized by European educators." 

No one but himself appreciated the task he had 
undertaken or the labor it entailed. Most people 
looked upon it as a political appointment and 
asked why he gave up his law practice, and 
whether it was a question of salary. That was 
the one thing that angered him ; for money was 
the last tiling that Horace Mann took into con- 
sideration. 

" Salary ! " he cried. " What do I care about the 
salary or the mere honor of the position? My 
possible usefulness is the thing that I consider. 
Do not such questions prove that the community 
need to be educated until they shall cease to look 
upon that as the greatest good which is really the 
smallest, and to find the greatest good in what they 
now overlook ? " 

And as he gave up the practice of the law, in 
which already he was winning name and success, 
he was again as great a hero as he who sacrifices 
his pereonal interests to command or follow on the 
field of war. 

" The interests of a client are small compared 
with the interests of the next generation," ho 
bravely declared as he turned from the lawyer's 



HORACE MANN. 327 

desk to the secretary's table. " Let the next gen- 
eration, then, be my client." 

He entered upon his work boldly and bravely 
with everything against him. Indifference, apa- 
thy, public sentiment, class distinctions, ignorance 
of needs and methods, political influence, favorit- 
ism, unskilled instructors, old-fogy ways — these 
and all the kindred obstacles to advancement and 
reform he must meet and conquer, and this he must 
do with the poor health and enfeebled body that 
weighed down his energy, his enthusiasm, and his 
pluck. 

But he rose superior to all obstacles. 

" Oh, that I could live a hundred years ! " he often 
exclaimed, as from all parts of the country came 
letters asking for his suggestion, assistance, or ad- 
vice ; and to his sister he wrote as he prepared to 
enter upon his new duties : " If I can discover l)y 
what appliance of means a non-thinking, non- 
refiecting, non-speaking child can most surely be 
trained into a noble citizen ready to contend for the 
right and to die for the right — if I can only ob- 
tain and diffuse throughout this State a few good 
ideas on these and similar objects, may I not flatter 
myself that my ministry has not been wholly in 
vain?" 

Those " few good ideas " were in time diffused 
not only throughout the State of Massachusetts, 
but throughout the world ; for the twelve annual 
reports made by Horace Mann, as secretary of the 



328 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Massachusetts State Board of Education, awakened 
the thinking world to the necessity of better meth- 
ods in education, to the needs of the chiklren, and 
the demands of the State ; they have been termed 
by critics "a classic on the subject of education," 
and as Mr. Hinsdale declares, " They presented 
Horace Mann to the world not simply as an educa- 
tor or a pedagogist, but as 'an educational states- 
man.' " 

"The twelve reports," says Mr. Hinsdale, "are 
among the best existing expositions, if, indeed, 
they are not the very best, of the practical benefits 
of a common-school education both to the in- 
dividual and the State. The student or educa- 
tor, the journalist or politician, who is seeking the 
best arguments in favor of popular education will 
find them here." 

Through those twelve years of his secretaryship 
Horace Mann worked untiringly and accomplished 
wonders ; but he prepared the way for even greater 
wonders ; for he laid the firm foundations of the pres- 
ent beneficent common-school system of America. 
He taught the American people to think and act 
on the subject of the better education of the young 
from primary to Normal schools ; indeed, he advo- 
cated, introduced, and instituted the professional 
preparatory institutions for teachers which we call 
" Normal " schools. He undertook to do a work 
that should be educational not only to the children 
and youth of the State, but also to the people of 



HORACE MANN. 329 

the State ; he did this by speaking, by writing, by 
laboring, counting no sacrifice too great, no work 
too menial, no strain too sharp, if but his purpose 
were attained. For fifteen hours and more a day 
he worked uncomplainingly, travelling and talking, 
holding teachers' conventions, giving lectures on 
methods and plans of instruction, and doing an 
enormous amount of letter-writing. He started 
an educational magazine, awakened the indiffer- 
ent, aroused the public spirited, prepared pam- 
phlets, and wrote his famous reports, and literally 
" spent himself " in the service of education. 

Indifference and lack of interest were his main 
obstacles, but nothing daunted him. In one town, 
where a convention was to be held, no preparations 
had been made, and when he and Ids stanch sup- 
porter the governor arrived at the untidy school- 
house and found it locked and unready he hunted 
up the key, and made the disorderly building pre- 
sentable ; so that one early arrival, coming in, was 
astonished to find the governor of Massachusetts 
and the secretary of the State Board of Education 
with brooms and dust cloths in their hands, actu- 
ally cleaning out and " redding up " the school- 
room for the session of the convention. 

Enthusiasm always inspires, and, little by little, 
his untiring work bore fruit. For when, after 
twelve years of ceaseless labor, through disap- 
pointments, discouragements, privations, and actual 
poverty, he was at last forced to retire from the 



330 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

field, broken in health and strength, but undis- 
mayed and undaunted in spirit, lie knew that he 
had succeeded, and that the public-school system 
of Massachusetts had by his efforts been put upon 
the high road to practical and positive success. 

When that old patriot John Quincy Adams 
fell in death upon the floor of Congress, where he 
had labored so long and valiantly for freedom of 
speech and for justice to all, Horace Mann was 
elected his successor, and for seven years he 
served Massachusetts as her representative in Con- 
gress, waging there just such an untiring fight 
against slavery as he had, in his own State, waged 
against ignorance and indifference. Even in Con- 
gress he did not relax his efforts in behalf of 
education, and though tlie great struggle for man- 
hood freedom, fast developing into the inevitable 
conflict that came at last with the election of 
Abraham Lincoln, absorbed his full attention, he 
was yet able to set on foot a national movement 
which, in time, resulted in the establishment of 
that Bureau of Education which is to-day so prom- 
inent a department of the National Government. 

In 1852 Horace Mann was nominated for gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts. But the forces of igno- 
rance and conservatism, even in the old Bay State 
which he had done so much to redeem and uplift, 
were yet too strong to be overcome in one political 
struggle, and he was not elected,' — defeated, so he 
declared, " by rum and pro-slavery." 



HORACE MANN. 331 

But the influence of his life-work had gone 
abroad into other parts of the Republic, and when, 
in 1853, certain educational forces in the State of 
Ohio combined to found and build up a non-secta- 
rian, co-educative university, to be known as 
Antioch College, and desired a head for their insti- 
tution, they invited Horace Mann to the presi- 
dency. The heroic leader felt that a new duty 
was laid upon him, and, in the same spirit of self- 
devotion, accepting it, bade farewell to Massa- 
chusetts and went to his new labors — and his 
death. 

Mann, who had resigned his seat in Congress for 
this purpose, removed at once to Ohio, and in Sep- 
tember, 1853, assumed his chair as president of 
Antioch College, pledged, as he declared, to " two 
great objects which can never be rightly separated 
from each other, — the honor of God and the ser- 
vice of man." 

It was laborious and uphill work, as all new en- 
terprises that claim to be pioneers in fresh fields are 
apt to be. The college was unendowed, and was 
not self-supporting. It was, indeed, heavily in 
debt from the start, and possessed few of the at- 
tractions necessary to induce young people to ac- 
cept its instruction. The public mind was not 
yet ready, either for co-education or unsectari- 
anism; misrepresentation, interference, misunder- 
standing, and lack of support combined to weaken 
and retard it, and Mann found himself obliged to 



332 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

be pi'esident, instructor, preacher, and financial 
•agent all in one. 

But against all these obstacles Horace Mann 
could have battled manfully, and, in time, success- 
fully, had his health been good. Instead, it was 
very bad. The strain of overwork through long 
years of endeavor had undermined a weakened 
and failing constitution, and, unable to keep up the 
losing battle between desire and disease, he finally 
succumbed to the destroyer, and on the second of 
August, 1859, died at the college for which he had 
literally sacrificed health and life. 

It reads almost like defeat. It seems a sad and 
tragic ending to a life of such unselfish and cease- 
less endeavor. But even defeat is sometimes vic- 
tory. The last words of Horace Mann to his de- 
voted and beloved students at Antioch were : " Be 
ashamed to die until you have won some victory 
for humanity." That was the text of his life, and, 
to-day, students and teachers, educators and spe- 
cialists, philanthropists and statesmen, reformers, 
leaders, patriots, and people, recognize that to 
Horace Mann was due that uplift towards a 
nobler and higher education, and therefore towards 
a broader and more practical Americanism, that has 
placed the Republic in the forefront of human in- 
telligence and the leadership of mind and heart 
and brain. 

" We shall mourn Horace Mann," said Charles 
Sumner. " He has done much ; but I wish he 



HORACE MANN. 333 

had lived to enjoy the fruit of his noble toils. He 
never should have left Massachusetts. His last 
years would have been happier and more influen- 
tial had he stayed at home. His portrait ought to 
be in every public school in the State, and his 
statue in the State House." 

From a personal standpoint the regret of Sum- 
ner may have been true ; for Horace Mann died 
homesick. But the influence even of his short 
stay in the West was great. During those six 
years he became a powerful factor in the educa- 
tional movement of that growing section, and, alike 
on the lecture platform and in educational meet- 
ings, he worked, outside his own college field, to 
push forward the intellectual developments of the 
States that are to-day centres of educational 
strength and intellectual progress. 

He, too, recognized the great possibilities of the 
West — the valleys of the Ohio and the Mississippi. 
" Wherever the capital of the United States may 
be," he said prophetically, in 1853, " this valley 
will be its seat of empire. No other valley — the 
Danube, the Ganges, the Nile, or the Amazon — 
is ever to exert so formative an influence as this 
upon the destinies of men ; and therefore in civil 
polity, in ethics, in studying and obeying the laws 
of God, it must ascend to the contemplation of a 
future and enduring reiofn of beneficence and 
peace. . . . But if a poor country needs edu- 
cation a rich country needs it none the less, be- 



334 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

cause it is the only thing which can chasten the 
proud passions of man into humility, or make any 
other gift of God a blessing." 

On the fourth of July, 1865, there was unveiled 
in the grounds in front of the famous State House 
on Beacon hill, in Boston, a bronze statue of the 
great educator, erected by his friends and admirers 
and the school children of Massachusetts — " My 
eighty thousand children," he loved to call them ; 
to-day millions of American school children all 
over the land he loved so well enjoy the fruit of 
his labors, his sacrifices, and his successes, and the 
civilized world has pi'ofited by the unselfish efforts of 
Horace Mann, teacher, educator, statesman, and 
patriot, " the Father of the Common Schools of 
America." 



XXIV. 

THE STORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 
OF SPRINGFIELD, 

CALLED " THE EMANCIPATOR " AND " THE GREAT 
PRESIDENT." 



Born on Nolin's Creek, Kentucky, February 12, 1809. 
Died at Washington, April 15, 1865. 



" Standing like a tower, 
Our children shall behold his fame, 
The kindly, earnest, brave, foreseeing man 

Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 
New breath of our new soil, the first American." 

James Russell Lowell. 

It had been an inglorious and spiritless cam- 
paign. The boys who, under the spur of excite- 
ment and for the novelty of hunting Indians, had 
enlisted for a " thirty days' picnic " had found no 
Indians to fight ; while forced marches, unexplained 
delays, and the privations of camp had made the 
short campaign against Black Hawk and his war- 
riors scarcely the picnic they had anticipated. 

The Sangamon company in Colonel Thompson's 
regiment of Illinois volunteers was no exception to 
the rule; they had proved themselves unruly, 
335 



336 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

fault-finding, and careless of camp duties, and as 
soon as their short term of enlistment was over 
tliey became almost mutinous in their demands to 
be mustered out and be sent home again. 

Suddenly to these imperfect patriots, at their 
camp in northern Illinois, came the news of Still- 
man's massacre, and the sudden foray of Black 
Hawk and his hostile Sacs. 

The brave volunteers shivered in their shoes, for 
they had not reckoned on the Indians taking the 
initiative. Their dream of glory had been to 
cliase the fleeing Indian across the prairie, picking 
off squaw and warrior as they ran, and bringing 
home trophies instead of wounds, with which to 
delight the " folks at the store " and the cross- 
roads. 

There was, however, small fear that the " two 
thousand bloodthirsty redskins " of Black Hawk's 
" army " — for that was the strength reported by 
rumor and fright — would strike the camp of the 
Sangamon company, and their distance from the 
real scene of war gradually increased their valor 
gained b}^ distance, as it emphasized their threats of 
what they would do to " them pesky red varmints " 
if once they had them in their power. 

Into the camp of the Sangamon company, thus 
exercised over their spasmodic valor, there w^an- 
dered one day a poor, forlorn, solitary, hungry, and 
helpless old Indian seeking charity. 

" Injun white man's friend," he exclaimed, as he 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 337 

extended his hand in supplication. " See — paper 
that talks ; from big white war-chief," and he drew 
from his belt a letter, which he offered as evidence 
of friendship. 

"But the soldiers into whose presence he had 
thrust himself had no faith in such assurances ; 
they had been looking for Indians ; here was one 
at last — no doubt a spy — perhaps Black Hawk 
himself. 

They swooped down upon the suspected and 
defenceless redskin. 

" String him up ! Scalp him ! Kill him ! " they 
cried. He 's a sure enough Injun. He 's what 
we 're after. Rush him along, we '11 settle him ! " 

In vain the poor old red man fluttered the letter 
in the faces of his inhospitable captors. 

" Me good Injun," he reiterated ; '' white chief 
say so. See 'um talking paper." 

" Get out ; can't play that forgery on us. Shoot 
him ! Shoot him ! " the soldiers shouted, and, with 
that, they hustled the old Indian about so roughly 
and made so much noise over their prize that they 
aroused their captain, who came springing from his 
tent. 

" What 's all this row about ? " he demanded. 

He was a tall, raw-boned specimen of the young 
Western borderer, lon^-armed, long-legged, awk- 
ward, and most unsoldierly looking. 

But there was determination in his eyes. He 
had gained many lessons in discipline from his 



338 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

hard experiences trying to discipline this unruly 
Sangamon company. 

At once his glance fell upon the badgered In- 
dian, and, dashing in among his men, he scattered 
them to right and left and placed a protecting hand 
upon the red fugitive's shoulder. 

" Stand back, all of you ! " he shouted. " Are n't 
you ashamed of yourselves — all of you piling on 
one poor old redskin? What are you thinking 
of? Would 3^ou kill an unprotected man?" 

" A spy ! He 's a spy ! " cried the discomfited 
soldiers, gathering again about their prey. The 
poor old Indian read his fate in their eyes. He 
crouched low at the captain's feet, recognizing in 
him his only protector. 

" Fall back, men ; fall back I " the captain com- 
manded. " Let the Injun go. He has n't done 
anything to you. He can't hurt you." 

" What are you afraid of ? " demanded one of 
the ringleaders, brandishing his rifle. " Let us 
have him. We 're not afraid, even if you are a 
coward." 

The tall young captain faced his accuser and 
proceeded to roll up his sleeves deliberately and 
with unmistakable meaning. 

" Who says I 'm a coward?" he demanded. 

The implied challenge received no response. 
The Sangamon boys knew the length and strength 
of those brawny arms. 

" Get out, cap'n ; that 's not fair," they said. 




\"'^h 



^(^ 



■TAKE IT OUT OF ME, IF YOU CAN, SUT YOU SHAN'T TOUCH THIS INjU 



JUN. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 339 

" You 're bigger 'n we are, and heavier. You don't 
give us a show." 

" I '11 give you all the show you want, boys," said 
the captain. " More 'n you '11 give this Injun. I '11 
tell you what : I '11 fight you all, one after the 
other, just as you come. Take it out of me, if you 
can, but you shan't touch this Injun. When a 
man comes to me for help he 's going to get it, if I 
have to lick all Sangamon county." 

There was no acceptance of that challenge, either. 
The Indian, who proved to be one of the friendly 
Indians from General Cass's Division, was given over 
to the captain ; the men dispersed ; the trouble was 
over ; no man in that camp, or all the camps together, 
had any desire to try a wrestle with Capt. Abraham 
Lincoln. For the captain who protected a fugitive 
Indian from the ferocity of that unruly set of raw 
recruits was Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois. 

Thus the first introduction to Abraham Lincoln 
which I shall give you is as the protector of the 
persecuted and unfortunate, even at the risk of his 
life ; the last view we have of Abraham Lincoln is 
as he sacrifices his life in behalf of those whom he 
protected, defended, and enfranchised. 

Indeed, sympathy and regard for all in trouble 
were among the chief characteristics of Abraham 
Lincoln. He would go out of his way to relieve 
the distress of bird or beast, while many an erring 
man and many a careless soldier have had cause to 
bless forever the kind heart of Abraham Lincoln, 



340 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

which went out to them in tenderness, protection, 
and help in time of stress. Helpfuhiess was the 
mainspring and stay of that remarkable life. 

And a remarkable life it was. Few have been 
more remarkable in events and none more glorious 
in results than was that of Abraham Lincoln. Born 
in the direst poverty, in a mean little log cabin on 
the banks of Nolin's creek, near to the present town 
of Hodgensville, about fifty miles south of Louis- 
ville, in Kentucky, Abraham Lincoln's childhood 
was as devoid of all the things that make a boy's 
life attractive as it is possible to imagine. His 
fatlier was shiftless and poor; his mother was a 
drudge who died from overwork, old before her 
time ; his home was a log hut on a scrubby hillside 
farm, or the yet worse half-faced camp on an Indi- 
ana prairie. He learned his letters any way he 
could ; he never went to school more than a year in 
all the days of his life ; he was a ragged, forlorn, 
neglected little son of the soil ; but he had in him 
the instincts of a scholar, the habits of a gentle- 
man, and the yearnings of honorable ambition. 
He made himself actually out of nothing, and the 
boy who would do a day's work to borrow a book, 
who did his studying and his reading by the flick- 
ering firelight of the earthen hearth ; who faced 
and conquered all the obstacles of birth, upbring- 
ing, surroundings, personal appearance, ignorance, 
and lack of opportunity, actually made himself the 
master of his circumstances, and rose to an emi- 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 341 

nence greater than that attained by any other man 
of the century. 

His story is a remarkable one, and yet it is neither 
startlinof in the amount of its successes nor varied 
in its dramatic, details. Beginning life away down 
in the world, he ended it away up. Other men 
have done this, but not as he did it. He served a 
hard apprenticeship to experience, and came out at 
the head of his craft — as nearly perfect a man as 
it is given to man to be perfect. Chore-boy, farm- 
hand, flatboat-man, rail-splitter, clerk, storekeeper, 
soldier, inventor, surveyor, postmaster. Congress- 
man, country lawyer, politician, statesman, presi- 
dent, hero, martyr, saint, — these are the steps in 
the slow but steady progress made by Abraham 
Lincoln. He was born in 1809 ; but it was 1859 
before he became famous, and all the wonderful 
happenings of his wonderful record were crowded 
into six years of heart-breaking endeavor that were 
suddenly closed by a violent death. The most con- 
servative of men, he became the greatest of reform- 
ers; the most unassuming of workers, he became 
tlie noblest of patriots ; awkward in figure and unat- 
tractive in face and appearance, his face has become 
the most familiar and most glorified in the whole 
gallery of great Americans, while the fame of the 
humble rail-splitter has overshadowed that of all the 
kings and princes that ever ruled or made brilliant 
the world in which they lived. His words have 
become a part of the proverljs and literature of the 



342 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

nation ; his deeds are among the noblest heritage of 
the ages. 

His story is a twice-told tale. But who is there 
that tires of its retelling? Of few other Ameri- 
cans are so many stories told, and not one but dis- 
plays some trait or characteristic that stamps him 
as exceptional and may be taken as a guide or 
inspiration for those who study his completed story. 
Think of what this completed story is I A poor boy 
born amid mean and disheartening surroundings; 
brought up on a rough frontier among rough 
people ; uncouth and awkward in appearance ; fail- 
ing many times in his attempt to gain a footing in 
the world, but never giving in ; educating himself 
in spite of difficulties and discouragements ; making 
himself respected and popular among the people, 
he became in time the chosen representative of 
those people in their home government, developed 
himself into their champion and the champion of a 
great reform, and, at last, in the hour of uncer- 
tainty and danger, was selected by the people of the 
whole country to become the head of the nation 
and the leader of that nation in its hour of stress 
and peril. And in that awful hour he was never 
found wanting. Upon his life through four terri- 
ble years of war hung the destinies of a nation and 
the redemption of a race. Through them all he 
displayed an ability for leadership that was only 
excelled by his marvellous patience, and a masterly 
grasp of public affairs that was only equalled by 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 34B 

his knowledge of men and his wisdom in hand- 
ling them. 

He became known to the American people 
through a failure. In the year 1858 he was 
"stumping" the State of Illinois with his chief 
rival, Stephen A. Douglas, for the nomination as 
senator of the United States from Illinois. The 
issue was the extension of slavery to the Territories 
— the thing for which Calhoun labored so hero- 
ically as the eloquent champion of a wrong cause. 

On the seventeenth of June in that year of 1858 
he made a remarkable speech in which he boldly de- 
clared that if America were to be really the land of 
the free it must cast off the stain of human slavery. 

" A house divided against itself cannot stand," 
he declared. " I believe that this Government can- 
not endure half slave and half free. I do not 
expect the Union to be dissolved. I do not expect 
the house to fall ; but I do expect it will cease to 
be divided. It will become all one thing or all the 
other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest 
the farther spread of it and place it where the 
public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the 
course of ultimate extinction, or the advocates of it 
will push it forward till it shall become alike law- 
ful in all the States — old as well as new. North as 
well as South." 

It was a great speech. It put the plain truth 
before the people. But the men who wished Lin- 
coln to be elected senator were greatly disturbed. 



344 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" You have made a mistake," they told him. 
" You should not put things that way ; you have 
ruined all your chances ; you have killed yourself 
politically." 

One of his friends came to him in much distress, 
as Lincoln sat at his desk after the day was over. 

" I am so sorry you made that speech," he said. 
" I wish it were wiped out of existence. How do 
you feel now ? Don't you wish you had not said 
so much ? " 

Lincoln laid down his pen, lifted his spectacles, 
and looked at his friend, with a smile on his homely 
face ; but it was a sober smile — the smile of con- 
fidence and assurance. 

"If I had to draw my pen across my whole life," 
he said, "and erase it from existence, and I had 
one poor little gift or choice left as to what I 
should save from the wreck, I would choose that 
one speech and leave it to the world unerased." 

There was a man who had the courage of his 
convictions and who, when duty demanded, could 
speak tlie truth bravely, whatever the conse- 
quence ! 

He lost the election. Judge Douglas went to 
Washington as senator, and Abraham Lincoln re- 
turned to his work as a country lawyer. 

But that speech roused the land; it went out to 
all the world ; it set men to thinking as they had 
never thought before, even when Calhoun had 
spoken his solemn warning ; it sent a death-shot 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 345 

straight to the heart of slavery ; it made Abraham 
Lincoln president of the United States. 

That is to say, it was the first step towards that 
resnlt ; for it was the first in a series of famous 
speeches in a great debate which drew the atten- 
tion of the North to x\braham Lincoln, and made 
them say that the man who could thus put things 
in the proper light and could see the right so clearly 
must be a man of ability and power. 

So the man who led the strength of the people, 
and their consciences, too, into such practical and 
progressive paths was made the standard-bearer of 
the party of freedom, and on the sixteenth of May, 
1860, in the city of Chicago, Abraham Lincoln was 
nominated for president. 

In that same city of Chicago, to-day, in a great 
and beautiful park along the shores of a mighty 
fresh-water sea, there rises a splendid bronze statue 
of the man who was there nominated for the presi- 
dency. It is the most impressive statue in all 
America — ■ St. Gaudens' statue of Abraham Lin- 
coln. And at the feet of the splendid statue I saw 
plajdng, one day, two negro children, contented, 
happy, and free because of the great act that man 
did in their behalf when he was president of the 
United States of America. 

It was in the November election of 1860 that the 
rail-splitter won the presidency. On the fourth of 
March, 1861, he was inaugurated in Washington, 
and, standing before the splendid east front of the 



346 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

Capitol, then incomplete, he made that honest, 
earnest plea for peace which so thrilled and inspired 
the loyal North. 

" I am loth to close," he said. " We are not 
enemies, hut friends. We must not be enemies. 
Though passion may have strained, it must not 
break our bond of affection. The mystic chords 
of memoiy, stretching from every battlefield and 
patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone 
all over the broad land, will yet swell the chorus 
of the Union, when again touched, as surely they 
will be, by the better angels of our nature." 

But his appeal was to deaf ears and hardened 
hearts. The day that Calhoun prophesied had ar- 
rived. The South and North were at odds and 
civil war was in the land. 

But the North had a great man at the helm. 
Courageous, patient, determined, tactful, sympa- 
thetic, watchful, and wise Abraham Lincoln stood 
through those four years of civil war, erect and 
vigilant, until men grew to know and to trust him, 
recognizing that the great President knew more 
than his ministers, more than his generals, more 
than friend or foe of the Union; he alone laid the 
course to victory, and to him alone the Repul)lic 
came at last to look for safety, security, guidance, 
and ultimate triumph. Gradually Congress gave 
him unlimited powers ; the people learned to de- 
pend upon him for help in dark days and wisdom in 
bright ones ; and whenever they grew impatient, or 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 347 

fearful, or despondent, they looked at that tall, sad- 
faced, quiet, patient, determined, noble figure of 
their president, and felt their faith grow strong 
and their fears subside. 

At last, when the war had been raging for two 
years, he saw that the time had come for the action 
he had kept in mind so long, but which, in spite of 
pressure on one side and of criticism on the other, 
he would not do until he felt the time was ripe. 

Emancipation had been urged by impatient 
statesmen and restless generals. But Lincoln was 
moved neither by one nor the other. 

" My paramount duty," he said, " is to save the 
Union, and not either to destroy or save slavery. 
. . . What I do about slavery and the colored 
race I do because I believe it helps to save the 
Union ; and what I forbear, I forbear because I do 
not believe it would help to save the Union. 
I have stated my purpose according to 
my views of official duty, and I intend no modifica- 
tion of my oft-expressed wish that all men every- 
where should be free." 

Patiently, watchfully, prayerfully he waited for 
the hour which he knew must come when he saw 
that the emancipation of the slaves was necessary 
to the success of the Union arms. Step by step 
he had worked up to this idea. Gradually he 
paved the way for the final decree. First he pre- 
vailed upon Congress to abolish slavery in the 
District of Columbia ; then he offered freedom to 



348 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

all negroes who would serve as Union soldiers ; 
soon after he approved an act of Congress prohibit- 
ing slavery in all the Territories of the United 
States. 

Then came the final act. Lincoln was now sure 
that the people of the North would agree with him 
that something vital must be done to convince the 
rebellious South, the wavering border States, and 
the people of the world that the Government of the 
United States pledged itself to freedom. 

On the twenty-second of September, 1862, Abra- 
ham Lincoln issued his Emancipation Proclamation 
by virtue of which, on and after Jan. 1, 1863, 
" All persons held as slaves within any State or 
part of a State in rebellion against the United 
States shall be thenceforward and forever free ; " 
and when on the first day of January, 1863, the 
proclamation was made fact by an official announce- 
ment Lincoln closed the announcement with these 
solemn words : " Upon this act, sincerely believed 
to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitu- 
tion upon military necessity, I invoke the consider- 
ate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of 
Almighty God." 

The judgment of mankind to-day is that the 
Emancipation Proclamation of Abraham Lincoln 
was the bravest, noblest, and most helpful deed of 
the century. North and South alike so regard it, 
while the marvellous progress of the Republic since 
Lincoln's day — a progress made because the nation 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 349 

indeed is free, — is the best evidence that the brave 
act of the great president obtained " the gracious 
favor of Ahnighty God." And by that one act 
Abraham Lincoln made his name immortal. 

Even as I write these lines there conies the 
word that disproves the fears of Calhoun and justi- 
fies the wisdom of Abraham Lincoln. 

The successful and efficient secretary of the 
navy, during the short but vigorous war with Spain, 
— a war for humanity's sake, the outgrowth of 
Lincoln's policy of sympathy and protection, — 
made this comparative picture in a speech of 
jubilee : 

" As I stood, a few days ago, on the portico of 
the Executive Mansion, I recalled that in my 
youth I there met President Lincoln as he came 
out of the White House door. We were alone. 
Had I then lost, as I have since lost, the awe 
which a young man feels on meeting a great one, 
I should have presumed to speak to him ; and, per- 
haps, one of the saddest faces on which I ever 
looked might have been touched, in the passing 
greeting, with that kindly smile and lighting of 
the eyes which sometimes transformed it into 
almost transcendent beauty. The burden of the 
great war was then upon his gaunt frame. He 
had emancipated the slave, but the war was not 
over. The freedom of a race, the issue of equal 
rights for all men, high or low, black or white, was 
still trembling in the balance. 



350 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

" A few days ago I stood with President McKin- 
ley on the same portico. We were not alone. 
Every foot of space, the railings, the grounds, 
were filled with a crowd of eager, interested people, 
men and women and children, waiting the march 
of the Tenth Regular Cavalry, colored troops, who 
soon came passing in review. They were dis- 
mounted and marching in column. They were the 
heroes of the recent war. They had saved the 
brave Hoosevelt and his Rough Riders. They had 
stormed and swept the hill of San Juan. They 
had linked their names Avith the bravest of the 
brave. Their uniforms showed service, but it was 
the uniform of the American soldier. They passed 
in review, and the president of the United States 
bared his head in token of respect. 

" There and then I saw the consummation of 
Lincoln's work. Mayhap that great soul looked 
down on the scene from the portico of a mansion 
eternal in the heavens. The issue which trembled 
in his strong hand is settled ; the slave is free ; 
there are equal rights for all ; the servile badge of 
color is forever obliterated ; and the black man is 
the American soldier, and more than that, the 
American citizen. There is no avenue of business 
life in wliich he does not walk ; no profession of 
which he is not a member ; no school of learning or 
of athletics in which he does not rank ; and, on the 
platform, one of his race is to-day the best orator in 
America.'" 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 351 

But before the war was over the day came for a 
new election of president of the United States. 
The people of the Republic, however, were in no 
mood for a change. In the terse and characteristic 
language of this American president who used the 
homely phrases of the people to emphasize his 
faith — " it is not safe to swap horses when you are 
crossing a stream." The stream was not yet quite 
crossed and there was no swapping of horses. In 
November, 1864, Abraham Lincoln was reelected 
president of the United States by two hundred and 
twelve out of the two hundred and thirty-three 
electoral votes cast. 

And on March fourth, 1865, he made that noble 
speech — • his second inaugural, from which I made 
an extract in the Calhoun chapter. You know its 
close. Its closing words have been emblazoned on 
decorations, carved on monuments, engraved on 
the hearts of the people. But you cannot read 
them too often : 

" With malice towards none ; with charity for all ; 
with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see 
the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are 
in ; to bind up the Nation's wounds ; to care for 
him who shall have borne the battle, and for his 
widow and his orphan — to do all which may 
achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among 
ourselves and all nations." 

Sympathy, defence, protection — the same attri- 
butes of character that led him to shield the defence- 



352 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

less and unprotected Indian in his boyish days of 
sokliering appear in this noble speech delivered 
almost in the shadow of death, while around him 
was being secretly woven tlie dastardly and bloody 
coil of assassination. 

One month later the blow fell. The great pres- 
ident's work was done. The war was over ; the 
greatest general of the centurj' had, in magnani- 
mous terms, accepted the surrender of tlie Southern 
armies ; the long struggle that had been waged 
from the very foundation of the Republic was 
triumphantly closed for freedom ; the nation was 
redeemed. And even as the good president, with 
a heart full of love for the vanquished, was planning 
measures for their good and was striving to make 
all Americans brothers once more, an ambitious, vin- 
dictive, and hare-brained adventurer, the arm and 
centre of a cowardly plot, shot the great president 
as he sat unconscious of danger, and at half-past 
seven o'clock on the morning of Saturday, the fif- 
teenth of April, 1865, Abraham Lincoln had ceased 
to live. 

But only in the flesh had he ceased to live. In 
the hearts of the American people he will live on 
forever. When he died the whole world mourned, 
and each year only increases his greatness and the 
world's recognition of his nobility, his grandeur, and 
his statesmanship. 

More power was given into his hand than king 
or emperor holds ; yet he was never for one instant 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 353 

moved by ambition or the desire for personal power. 
Abraham Lincohi lived and died a poor man, with 
no desire to make money out of his nation's distress, 
and with no time to devote to anything but his 
country's heed and service. He saved a nation 
and emancipated a race. 

Absolutely without vices, he had strongly marked 
characteristics. He was tender-hearted, but when 
occasion required, sternly inflexible; he was 
sunny-tempered, yet his face, as Secretary Long 
says, was one of the saddest ever seen ; simple in 
speech and life, he was capable of eloquence and of 
stirring Avords that will live forever. Brave, broad- 
minded, just, and true, his humanity embraced all 
men, his faith in the people never faltered ; none 
knew them better than he ; none loved them more 
truly. There never was, in any age of the world, 
a leader more directly selected by Providence to 
guide the destinies of his people and be the saviour 
of the Republic, and as time goes on the fame of 
Abraham Lincoln will rise above that of his fellows 
as the greatest, noblest, best, and wisest man of the 
whole wonderful nineteenth century. 



XXV. 

THE STORY OF HENHY WADSWORTH 
LONGFELLOW, 

CALLED "America's foremost poet." 



Born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. 

Died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, March 2-1, 1882. 



" The man who couhl write ' Sandalphon,' ' The Ladder of St. 
Augustine,' ' Snow-Fhikes,' ' Daybreak,' ' The Chiklren's Hour,' 
' Suspira,' ' Seaweed,' ' The Day is Done,' ' The Wreck of tlie 
Hesperus,' ' The Skeleton in Armor,' ' Excelsior,' 'A Psalm of 
Life,' ' The Old Clock on the Stairs,' ' Paul Revere's Ride,' ' Noel ' 
and ' Morituri, Salutamus,' — the man who could Avrite such 
poems as these is immortal." — William Sloane Kennedy. 

On a certain broad street in a certain fair city 
in the famous section known as " Down East " 
there stands to-day, as it has stood for more than 
a hundred and twenty years, a wide brick house 
of ample proportions and hospitable aspect — a 
show house now, prized as a relic by the pushing, 
prosperous jNIaine city which has surrounded and 
outgrown it. 

In the right-hand corner room on the third floor 
of this historic house, on a certain November day 
in the year 1820, a boy sat at a table, writing. The 
354 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 355 

table was of mahogany, slender and round-topped, 
with one central leg and three sprawling, claw- 
shaped feet ; the boy was in his early 'teens, a 
handsome fellow, bright-faced, blue-eyed, and wavy- 
haired, just shooting up into a thoughtful but 
manly youth. He came of good stock and brave 
ancestry, and in all Portland, in all Maine, in all 
America indeed, there was no more attractive-look- 
ing or gentle-mannered boy of thirteen than the 
one who sat busy over his writing at that round- 
topped mahogany table in the third-story room of 
the brick house on Main street — Henry Wads- 
worth Longfellow, the son of " Lawyer " Stephen 
Longfellow, of Portland, Maine. 

He had something on his mind and in his head 
as he sat down at that round-topped table in his 
own bed-room. He had been spending a good part 
of his summer at his Grandfather Wads worth's, up 
in Hiram township, forty or fifty miles northwest 
from Portland. Now, Grandfather Peleg Wads- 
worth was an old Continental soldier, a general of 
the Revokition, and the traditions of conflict hung 
about the Wads worth name — • an honorable one in 
the annals of Maine's prowess on land and sea. 
The country about Hiram was full of the legends 
of frontier struggles and Indian fights in the days 
when this region of lake and pine was the debata- 
ble borderland between white man and red man, 
between the colonist of New England and the 
irrepressible Frenchman of Canada. 



356 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

One such fight as this liad been waged up on tlie 
shores of a pretty lalte known tliereabouts as Love- 
well's or Lovell's pond, only a few miles from 
Grandfather Wadsworth's farm in Hiram, and the 
boy Henry became so deeply interested in the story 
of that fierce and fatal fight of the stern old colony 
days that he could not drop the tradition from 
his robust fancies. 

It rang in his head as he tramped the woods and 
fields about Hiram ; it shaped itself into rhythm as 
he thought of it in iiis Portland home ; and as he 
sat at the round-topped table in his dearly-loved 
" own room " he found himself impelled to turn 
his study of the " battle " into these crude and 
boyish lines — built plainly on the model of Scott 
and Moore and Byron, heroes of literature in those 
days : 

" THE BATTLE OF LOVELL's POND. 

" Cold, cold is the north-wind and rude is the blast 
That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast, 
As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear, 
Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier. 

" The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell 
Fas sunk into silence along the wild dell ; 
The din of the battle, the tumult is o'er, 
And the war clarion's voice is now heard no more. 

" The warriors that fought for their country, and bled. 
Have sunk to their rest ; the damp earth is their bed ; 
No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, 
Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. 



HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 357 

" They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, 
And victory's loud trump their death did proclaim ; 
They are dead ; but they live in each patriot's breast 
And their names are engraved on Honor's bright crest." 

Crude and halting indeed they may seem to us, 
in construction as in rhythm, but that hoy poet of 
thirteen was stirred by his sentiment and enthused 
by his verses so that, reading them again and 
again with the pride and thrill that all young poets 
know, he decided that they were good enough to 
publish. 

So he signed his verses "Henry," and folding 
them up and sealing them in the careful style of 
those non-envelope days he addressed the folded 
paper " To the Editor of the ' Gazette,' " and, slip- 
ping from the house, ran down the street to the 
printing-office of the Portland "Gazette." Like 
Franklin and Dickens and countless other young 
aspirants for literary recognition, Henry pushed 
his precious manuscript into the letter-box and 
then ran home to wonder "if they really would 
print it." 

On the evening before the semi-weekly " Gazette " 
appeared the palpitating poet again stole down to 
the printing-office where printers and presses could 
be seen at work, and, wondering if they were print- 
ing his " poem," was half inclined to go in and ask, 
yet did not dare to brave the possibility of a " No." 

How that fair, boyish face flushed with pleasure 
when, next morning, after " Lawyer " Longfellow 



358 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

had laid aside his "Gazette," Henry and his sister, 
who alone was in the secret, darted npon tlie news- 
paper and there discovered the poem " in all the 
glory of print " ! And how proud was the sister of 
her brother, the poet I 

But pride goes before a fall. That very evening 
Henry went with his father to call on a friend, 
Judge Mellen, of Portland. Henry and the judge's 
son were talking before the fire when suddenly the 
young poet's heart beat fast. 

" Have you read that poem on Lovell's fight in 
this morning's ' Gazette ' ? " he heard the judge in- 
quire. 

"No," replied "Lawyer" Longfellow carelessly; 
" I did n't notice it. Good for anything ? " 

"No, sir," was the judge's verdict; "it's stiff, 
stiff; remarkably stiff. And not original, either. 
It's all borrowed, every line of it. Why, my boy 
there could Avrite a much better one on the same 
subject; much better, sir." 

The friendly firelight did not betray the mortifi- 
cation and anguish of the boy, whose face was 
shadowed alike by its flicker and his own disap- 
pointment. But when, soon after, he found him- 
self in his own room in the big brick house on 
Main street he flung himself on the bed in shame 
and rebellion, and fairly cried himself to sleep over 
the poet's first criticism. 

But a boy's will is strong, even if this selfsame 
poet himself declared it to be "the wind's will," 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 359 

and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow simply declared 
that he would write verse and become known as a 
poet — as he did. 

Sixty-four years after that boyish effusion was 
slipped, " with fear and trembling," into the letter- 
box of the Portland "Gazette " there gathered on 
a March day in 1884, in the stateliest and most 
notable of all the great churches of England, the 
famous Westminster Abbey, a group of men and 
women assembled to do honor to one who had added 
grace, beauty, strength, and glory to the English 
tongue. Kinsfolk on both sides the sea, in whose 
veins ran the same strain of Anglo-Saxon blood, 
men high in State affairs and famous in the world 
of letters, listened in the noble Jerusalem chamber 
as now the premier of England and now the Amer- 
ican minister exchanged words of appreciation and 
acknowledgment concerning the man tliey had 
there gathered to honor. Then in procession the 
group of notables, English and American, arm-in- 
arm, proceeded to the splendid South Transept of the 
great Abbey, where, in the section famous through- 
out the world as the Poets' Corner, one of the high 
officials of the Abbey unveiled a noble marble bust, 
proclaimed by many critics to be the finest memorial 
of its kind in the whole grand Abbey. 

Upon the pedestal of this marble bust was cut the 
simple name Longfellow, and beneath, upon its 
supporting bracket, were these words : " This bust 
was placed among the memorials of the poets of 



360 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

England by the English admirers of an American 
poet, 1883." Who this American poet is the 
name carven on the pedestal, the calm, serene, 
noble, Homer-like head, alike declare. But to these 
are added on the memorial these brief biographical 
details : 

Bom at Portland, U.S.A., Feb. 27, 1807. 
Died at Cambridge, U.S.A., March 24, 1882. 

To this proud height of fame has risen the boy 
poet of 1820, Enshrined by the hereditary foemen 
of his native land, within tlie choicest sanctuary of 
their own glorious worthies, the presence of this 
bust of Longfellow, almost shoulder to shoulder 
with the memorials to Dryden and Chaucer and 
Cowley, and surrounded by those of the men who 
made England's noblest literature, was an epoch- 
making event. For that honoring of an American 
poet, dear to all who speak the English tongue, 
dear also to those of other lands into whose speech 
his verses have been rendered, marked the firet 
welding of the bond, now growing stronger every 
day, that shall join at last in moral as well as 
in material interests the two great nations of the 
English-speaking race. 

" Lie calm, white and laureate head ! 
Lie calm, O Dead, that art not dead ; 

Since, from thy voiceless grave, 
Thy voice shall speak to old and young 
While song yet speaks an English tongue, 

By Charles' or Thamis' wave." 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 361 

So wrote an English poet in reverence of the 
great American ; and that American minister 
whose presence added impressiveness and affection 
to that historic scene in the Poets' Corner, the life- 
long friend and lover of Longfellow, — James Rus- 
sell Lowell, — wrote : 

" Surely if skill in song the shears may stay 

And of its purpose cheat the charmed abyss, 
If our poor life be lengthened by a lay, 
He shall not go, although his presence may, 
And the next age in praise shall double this." 

Already it has doubled it, though the country 
which gave birth to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
is but just merging into the dawn of a new age. 
For no one yet has displaced from the proud posi- 
tion of America's foremost and favorite poet the 
man who through sixty years of song led his na- 
tive land to nobler thinking and to higher life. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Port- 
land in the year 1807, not in the ample brick house 
in which we saw him at the round-topped table 
writing his first poem, but in a big frame house 
down by the waterside, now so transformed from 
its original " fashionable " beginnings to a decid- 
edly " unfashionable " atmosphere that one small 
Portland boy, on being asked, some years ago, if he 
knew where the poet Longfellow was born, an- 
swered promptly, "Yes, 'm; in Patsy Conner's 
bedroom." 



362 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But Longfellow's boyhood and youth were passed 
in the quaint and now famous house on Main 
street, — or Congress street as it is called to-day, — 
built by his grandfather, the stout Continental vet- 
eran, Gen. Peleg Wads worth, and it is with this 
house in Main street, as with the delightful old city 
of Portland, that the story of his youth is associated, 
and of which he wrote : 

" Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea ; 
Often, in thought, go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town 

And my youth comes back to me." 

Here, under the guidance of a gifted father and 
a refined and cultivated mother, the gentle nature 
of the boy was shaped and directed. Here he felt 
his first literary aspirations, established his first 
literar}^ friendship, wrote his first " epigrams and 
tragedies," and at length went from thence, before 
he was fifteen, to Bowdoin College, Maine's most 
celebrated institution for higher education. 

In 1825, being then eighteen, he graduated with 
honor from Bowdoin. But his literary ability and 
cultivated mind had already made their impression 
upon the authorities and faculty of the college, and 
when, in the very year of his graduation, it was de- 
termined to establish at Bowdoin a professorship of 
modern languages, Longfellow was at once sug- 
gested and advocated for the new chair. The re- 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 363 

suit was that he was sent abroad to fit himself 
for the duties of his new position, and after three 
years' travel in Europe he returned to enter upon 
his professorship, in September, 1829, — a young 
man of but two and twenty. 

So excellent a record did he make in this post 
that in 1835 he was offered and accepted the pro- 
fessorship of modern languages and belles lettres 
at Harvard College, and in December, 1836, after 
anotheryear in Europe, he removed to Cambridge, 
where he resided in the famous mansion known as 
Craigie house, on Brattle street, dear to Americans 
for its double significance as the headquarters of 
"Washington and the home of Longfellow. 

He remained in his professorship at Harvard for 
eight years — from 1836 to 1844 — and then 
resigned it into the hands of his friend, neighbor, 
and successor, James Russell Lowell, in order 
that he might be free for his much-loved literary 
work. 

The record of this literary work stretches over 
half a century — from " Coplas de Manrique," in 
1833, to the " Bells of San Bias," his last poem, in 
1882. The simple recital of his publications is to 
chronicle the highest achievement of poetical pro- 
duction by the man, who, in his life-time, was easily 
the foremost literary figure in America. It is well 
that we should read this record. 

In 1833, the year in which appeared his first 
book, — a thin volume of translations from the Span- 



364 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

isli, under the title " Coplas de Manrique," — lie 
issued also the first part of his prose work, " Outre 
Mer," which he completed in 1835. In 1839 came 
a second prose story, " Hyperion," and " Voices of 
the Night," the latter collection containing two of 
his now most famous poems, " The Psalm of Life " 
and " Footsteps of Angels." In 1841 he issued a 
small volume called simply " Ballads, and Other 
Poems," but they comprised, among others, " Ex- 
celsior," " The Skeleton in Armor," " The Village 
Blacksmith " and " The Wreck of the Hesperus." 
In 1842 appeared his " Poem on Slavery; " in 1843 
"The Spanish Student;" in 1845 "The Belfry of 
Bruges ; " in 1847 " Evangeline " — esteemed by 
many critics the greatest of all his poems. In 
1849 came his only prose novel, " Ivavanagh," and 
a collection of poems, " Seaside and Fireside," 
in which were included those beautiful verses 
which have comforted all the world — " Resigna- 
tion." In 1851 appeared "The Golden Legend;" 
in 1855 " The Song of Hiawatha," the only great 
poem with the American Indian as a theme ; in 
1858 "The Courtship of Miles Standish " and 
"Birds of Passage;" in 1863 the "Tales of a 
Wayside Inn" and the "Second Flight" of his 
" Birds of Passsage ; " in 1866 came a small 
volume entitled " Flower de Luce ; " in 1867 he 
published his great labor of love ("a masterpiece 
of literal translation," it has been called), his 
translation of Dante's " Divine Comedy." In 1868 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 365 

was issued " The New England Tragedies ; " in 
1871 "The Divine Tragedy," forming, with " The 
Golden Legend" and ''The New England Trag- 
edies," a threefold presentation of the develop- 
ment of Christianity. In 1872 he published 
" Three Books of Song ; " in 1873 " Aftermath ; " 
in 1874 " The Hanging of the Crane ; " and in 1875 
"The Masque of Pandora," and other poems, one 
of the latter being his inspiring poem on old age, 
"Morituri Salutamus." In 1878 appeared " Kera- 
mos," and other poems, and in the same year he 
completed his series of selections from all the 
poets, entitled "Poems of Places." In 1880 he 
issued "Ultima Thule," and in March, 1882, he 
wrote his last poem, " The Bells of San Bias," — 
almost a prophecy of the death that soon afterward 
came to him on the twenty-fourth of March, 1883. 

A full half-century his pen was busy. His was 
a life of helpful, hopeful, uplifting, and inspiring 
work. For Henry Wadsworth Longfellow liad 
few dark days ; he was the poet of optimism — 
genial, sunny, kindly, earnest ; he was the prophet 
of beauty, order, and righteousness, loving and 
beloved by the whole English-speaking world. 

Charles Kingsley declared that the face of Long- 
fellow was the most beautiful face he had ever 
seen. That face was but the index of the mind 
and the soul of the best-loved of our American 
poets. His very presence was a benediction ; his 
simplest word was an encouragement. The desire 



366 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

that guided his pen was to make " a purer faith 
and manhood shine in the untutored heart ; " and 
his whole life was a personification of all the qual- 
ities that make for righteousness. 

Children loved and honored him. One of his 
most delightful experiences was the unique way 
in which the childi-en of the schools of Cambridge 
— seven hundred in all — celebrated his seventy- 
seventh birthday. From the wood of the tree be- 
neath which had stood on Brattle street that very 
village smithy which the poet had made so famous, 
there was constructed a great chair. This was 
placed in his study on the morning of the twenty- 
seventh of February, 1879, as a birthday surprise. 

And it was, indeed, a surprise. On a brass 
plate in the seat of the chair was this inscription : 
" To the Author of ' The Village Blacksmith ' this 
chair, made from the wood of the spreading chest- 
nut tree, is presented as an expression of grateful 
regard and veneration by the children of Cam- 
bridge, who, with their friends, join in the best 
wishes and congratulations on this anniversary — 
February 27, 1879." Longfellow appreciated, en- 
joyed, and acknowledged the gift, and his verses of 
acknowledgment, beginning, 

"Am I a king that I should call my own 
This splendid ebon throne ? " 

gladdened the hearts not only of the children of 
Cambridge, who were responsible for it, but of all 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 367 

the children the wide workl over, who knew that 
good gray poet by the songs which had become a 
part of their life and literary development. 

Critics may undervalue his genius, discount his 
aspirations, and belittle his gift of song; but the 
fact remains that he was and ever will be the most 
popular of American poets. Such verses as " Ex- 
celsior," " The Skeleton in Armor," " Resigna- 
tion," "The Old Clock on the Stair," "The 
Psalm of Life," "Paul Revere's Ride," "The 
Wreck of the Hesperus," and others, are wider 
known than any corresponding number of lyrics 
by any other writer of E^ngiish song; while of 
" The Building of the Ship " it is asserted that 
" it had as much effect in developing a sense of 
nationality as anything ever written — not ex- 
cepting the Declaration of Independence, or 
Webster's reply to Hayne." 

Longfellow : that is all that the army of pil- 
grims read on the simple, almost uncarven stone 
that marks his grave on Indian Ridge path in 
beautiful Mount Auburn. It is but a type of the 
simplicity of his life and the natural beauty of his 
mind. The bust in Westminster and the green, 
park-like memorial at Cambridge speak alike of the 
range of his genius and the loving respect of the 
world. 

Old and young, rich and poor, found in him in- 
spiration, counsel, sympathy, and help, and his 
words touched more closely the great throbbing 



368 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

heart of humanity than did those of even greater 
poets. It has been said of him that his was " a 
thoroughly healthy, well-balanced, harmonious 
nature, accepting life as it came, with all its joys 
and sorrows, and living it beautifully and hopefully, 
without canker and without uncharity." It is such 
a life that, communicating itself to the world 
through the medium of verse whose inspiration is 
sympathy and whose root is love, uplifts, refines, 
and brightens the w'orld. And this was the mission, 
this the achievement, of Henry Wadsworth Long- 
fellow. 



XXVI. 

THE STORY OF ULYSSES S. GRANT, 
OF GALENA, 

CALLED "THE HERO OF APPOMATTOX." 



Born at Point Pleasant, Ohio, April 27, 1822. 

Died at Mount McGregor, New York, July 23, 1885. 



" The world knew his faults, his mistakes, and his weaknesses ; 
but they were all forgotten in the memory of his great deeds as 
a warrior, and of his gentleness, modesty, candor, and purity as 
a man. Since then it becomes increasingly more evident that 
he is to take his place as one of the three or four figures of the 
first class in our national history. He was a man of action, and 
his deeds were of the kind which made epochs in history." — 
Hamlin Garland. 

'In the battle month of August, 1847, the Amer- 
ican invaders were storming at the gates of Mexico. 
The embattled walls of Cherubusco and the forti- 
fied camp of Contreras had yielded to the resistless 
onrush of the northern host; over the stone 
citadel of Molino del Rey and upon the castle- 
crowded hill of Chapultepec floated the triumphant 
Stars and Stripes, until, at last, only the stout walls 
of the capital city, pierced with its defended gates, 
held back the conquering soldiers of Scott from the 
storied " halls of the Montezumas." 

369 



370 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

But those defended gates were stubbornly held 
by the valorous but poorly-led and outgeneralled 
Mexicans, and while it was evident that the Amer- 
ican cannon would in time blow out a path for 
entrance, it was desirable to clear this path at 
once, alike to inspire the besiegers and dishearten 
the besieged. 

It was at this stage of the assault, while the 
brigades of Worth and Quitman were held back 
by the aqueduct embankment and the city gates, 
that a young lieutenant of the Fourth United 
States Infantry, scouting a l)it on his own hook, 
saw off in the fields a little stone church which he 
begun to study critically. 

It was not so much the church as the belfry on 
the church that attracted him. 

"That's the key to the situation," he said to 
himself. " That church is just in line with the 
gate. Back of that gate are the fellows we 've got 
to drive off. If I could only get a gun into that 
belfr}^ I believe I could drop some shot into the 
Mexicans at the gate and scatter them double 
quick." 

The plan seemed so promising that the lieuten- 
ant resolved to try it at once. He hurried back to 
the lines ; called for a few volunteers ; borrowed 
one of those light cannon called a mountain how- 
itzer, and, dodging the Mexicans, cut across -the 
fields to the church. 

The fields were seamed with numerous irrifratinof 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 371 

ditches filled with water. But these did not dis- 
turb the plucky lieutenant. He and his men took 
the howitzer and its mount apart and, each one 
carrying a piece, they waded the ditches and at 
last reached the church. The gate into the city 
was less than a thousand feet away. 

At the church door a priest confronted them. 

" This is a church. You must not enter here," 
he said in warning. 

" I fear we must, sir," said the young lieutenant 
courteously. 

" You shall not ! I will not let you," the brave 
priest declared sternly. 

But the lieutenant was equally firm. 

" Oh, I reckon you will," he said. " You see, 
we're coming in." 

And brushing the protesting priest aside, he and 
his men forced their way into the church. 

Piece by piece the howitzer was carried up into 
the belfry, put together, speedily loaded, and trained 
directly upon the Mexican defenders of the San 
Cosme gate, as it was called. 

Those defenders, intent on keeping back the 
besieging Americans, did not notice the little group 
in the church belfry, until, suddenly, with a spite- 
ful bang ! bang ! the howitzer in the air sent down 
its unwelcome shot into the very ranks of the 
defenders of the gate. 

They could not dislodge this new and surprising 
battery in a steeple, and when, finally, its well- 



372 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

directed shot got the range and became unbearable 
they retreated from behind the gate. 

General Worth heard the shots ; he saw the puffs 
of smoke ; he appreciated the strategy of the 
"embattled belfry." 

" That 's a bright idea," he said. " Ride over 
there, Lieutenant Pemberton, and see who 's 
responsible for that. Tell him to report to me at 
once." 

So Lieutenant Pemberton jumped the ditches 
and summoned the fighting lieutenant from his 
church steeple. 

"Ah, Lieutenant Grant, it's you, is it?" said 
General Worth, as the young officer saluted. 
" Good idea of yours, that. Keep it up. I '11 
order another gun for you, and you can run that 
up there and blaze away with both of 'em. It 's 
the best move I 've seen. If you can keep the 
gate clear we can knock it down. I '11 have that 
other gun for you directly." 

Lieutenant Grant saluted and went back to his 
battery in the belfry. He did not tell the general 
that there was only room for one gun in the steeple, 
because, as he explained years after, it was not 
proper for a young lieutenant to tell his command- 
ing officer that he could n't do it, even when or- 
dered to crowd two guns into a belfry that was only 
big enough for one. 

But his one gun did the business. It scattered 
the enemy, cleared the path for a final assault, and 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 373 

induced the Mexicans to beg off from such an as- 
sault by running up the white flag of surrender, and 
opening the gates of Mexico to General Scott and 
his conquering northern army. 

And it brought a promotion to the grade of cap- 
tain for this young lieutenant, Ulysses Simpson 
Grant, Fourth United States Infantry. For he was 
mentioned for bravery, in special despatches, and 
though he was as modest as Hobson the people who 
admire pluck picked him out as a hero. 

Pluck was a distinguishing feature of U. S. 
Grant. As boy and man he displayed this quality 
again and again, from his wrestle with the balky colt 
as an Ohio farm-boy to his struggle with pain as the 
world's foremost soldier. 

His story is a simple one, as are the stories of 
most great men. He was born in a country village 
of Ohio, known as Point Pleasant, on the banks of 
the Ohio river, on the twenty-seventh of April, 1822. 
His father was a successful tanner of that resfion, 
who when Ulysses was about a year old moved to 
the village of Georgetown, about twenty miles away, 
for the purpose of increasing his tannery plant. 

Ulysses Grant — Hiram Ulysses was his real 
name — was a strong, healthy, go-ahead little fellow 
who did not greatly enjoy going to school, and did 
not at all like the tannery business. But if he had 
anything to do, either in work or play and whether 
he liked it or not, he went ahead and did it, because 
it was the thing to do. 



374 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

One day a great opportunity came to this Ohio 
boy, although he really did not desire it ; he ob- 
tained an appointment to enter the United States 
^lilitary Academy at West Point and study to be 
a soldier. 

He went even against his will, because he saw 
it was best for him to do so, and after four years 
of thorough training he graduated, not very high 
up in his class, but still with the record of having 
been a fair scholar and a splendid hoi-seman, and, 
on the thirteenth of June, 1843, he was commis- 
sioned a brevet second lieutenant in the United 
States arm}'. 

It was when he entered West Point that, by a 
mistake in entry and by his own silence, as well as 
the complicated system that makes it hard to rec- 
tify a mistake, he was entered on the books of the 
military academy as Ulysses Simpson Grant — and 
that is the name by which he went into history. 

He fought through the Mexican war with con- 
spicuous bravery, even though he was not obliged 
to fight, because he was quartermaster of his regi- 
ment. But Lieutenant Grant was not the man to 
shirk responsibility or to dodge duty. 

After the war he went with his regiment to Ore- 
gon, by way of the Isthmus of Panama. On the 
isthmus the regiment was starved by inefficiency 
and stricken with the cholera ; but Grant, as quarter- 
master of his regiment, fought tlie plague, inspired 
with confidence the panic-stricken men and women 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 375 

under his charge, forced the inefficient contractors 
to furnish food and transportation, and, at last, got 
his connnand across the deadly isthmus and aboard 
the transports, and not only learned by his expe- 
rience, but taught by his example those lessons of 
foresight, determination, and watchfulness that 
strengthened a character that was to mean great 
thina^s for his native land. 

A doleful experience in barracks on the Ore- 
gon coast led finally to his resignation from the 
army. For eleven years he had been a soldier of 
the Republic, which, for a man who detested Avar 
and abhorred fighting, was a good record of devotion 
to duty. But he had married a wife ; he felt that 
he owed a duty to himself, as well as the Republic, 
and so, with his brevet of captain made a full 
commission, he retired from the army in March, 
1834, and became a farmer near St. Louis. 

He was not a success as a farmer ; his health was 
poor, and it takes some time for a soldier of eleven 
years' experience to settle down to other work. 
Somehow things did not go his way, and he tried first 
one thing and then another. He tried lumbering, 
real estate, and bill collecting with no better success 
than farming, and, finally, removed to Galena, in 
Illinois, where he " clerked " for his father and 
brother in their tannery and leather store. There 
he lived unnoticed and unknown, until in 1861 the 
Civil war broke out. Then, as he had been edu- 
cated by the Government, he felt that he owed a 



376 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

duty to the Government, but, because he was a West 
Point graduate, he felt also that it was due alike to 
the Government and to himself that he be placed 
in a position where his knowledge could be put to 
the best service. 

He tried to get an army appointment, but could 
not ; then he accepted the captaincy of a volunteer 
company, simply to drill them into shape ; and, at 
last, just as he began to despair of serving his 
State in the field, he was appointed colonel of the 
Twent_y-first Illinois. 

Then he began to show what he could do. His 
training and ability were soon recognized : he was 
made brigadier-general, and soon after commander 
of the military district of Cairo, in Southern Il- 
linois. In that position the test of ability speedily 
came, and U. S. Grant stood it as few others had 
done. While they argued he acted. He surprised 
and captured the Confederate camp at Belmont ; 
he captured Fort Henry and immediately afterwards 
For Donelson, deemed impregnable fortifications ; 
he turned the battle of Shiloh from a defeat to a 
victory ; and, at last, after cooping up the Southern 
army in their fortified city of Vicksburg, he be- 
sieged it so cleverly and determinedly that, at last, 
on the Fourth of July, 1863, Viclcsburg surrendered 
to Grant, and the Mississippi river Avas free from 
the lakes of Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. 
The tanner's son had become a great and success- 
ful general. 



ULVSSES S. GRANT. 377 

This important victory made Grant a major- 
general in the United States Army. He was given 
command of a great section called the Military 
Division of the Mississippi, and at once began an 
active campaign against the Confederates of Sonth- 
ern Tennessee. He won the battle of Chattanooga, 
said by military critics to have been " one of the 
most remarkable battles in history ; " he relieved 
the great mountain plateau between the Alleghan- 
ies and the Mississippi of hostile troops, and rose 
to the command of all the armies of the United 
States, as Lieutenant-General Grant. 

Thereupon he took charge of the war in the east, 
and, as leader of the Army of the Potomac,- he 
fought the brave Confederates and their able 
leader. General Lee, for a whole year, in a series of 
some of the bloodiest battles of history. 

General Grant, as I have told you, deplored and 
detested war. But once engaged in it, he fought 
to win. 

" Give the enemy no rest ; strike him, and keep 
striking him. The Avar must be ended, and we 
must end it now." 

That was his theory of war, and he fought 
straight on, never halting in his opinion, never 
wavering in his actions, saying to those who ques- 
tioned him : " I shall fight it out on this line if it 
takes all summer." 

Thereupon the people and the president knew 
that they had a soldier to rely on, a man with a 



378 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

genius for successful war, a general who never took 
one backward step. In just thirteen months after 
Grant assumed his command as head of the Amer- 
ican army the end came, and, in the apple-orchard 
at Appomattox, the last stand was made, the last 
gun was fired, the white flag fluttered for a truce, 
and in the little ^McLean farmhouse the two srreat 
opposing generals met in conference, and the 
Southern army laid down its arms in surrender. 

Then General Grant won a greater victory 
through kindness. For where he might have been 
harsh he was magnanimous. He was not oi^ to 
exult over a valiant but fallen foeman. 

" They are Americans, and our brothers," he 
said. He gave them back their horses, so that 
they could plough their farms for planting ; he 
gave them food and clothes, and sent them all home 
to their families. '' The war is over," he said to 
North and South alike. " Let us have peace." 

Of course, his great success made him a hero. He 
was one. But lie bore his honors modestly. He 
hated to be made a show of, he declared ; for he 
was a quiet, unpretentious, and silent man. 

This, of course, made him all the more popular, 
for the world ranks that nian highly who shows 
himself modest in success and magnanimous in vic- 
tory. His own land, indeed, thought so much of 
him that the Republic called him to its highest 
place, and Ulysses S. Grant was twice elected pres- 
ident of the United States. 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 370 

He served as chief magistrate of the Republic in 
a hard and stormy time — the period of recon- 
struction. Aiming to deal justly with all men, he 
made many enemies ; he may have made mistakes, 
but he kept to his course as steadily and per- 
sistently as when he was a leader in the field. 
To-day people begin to realize how wise and able 
a president he was, and as that time of dispute 
drops farther into the past, the new America, the 
real union of States, will be found to have come to 
grandeur and glory largely because of the deter- 
mined, unyielding, and noble stand of Ulysses S. 
Grant, who taught the people at once the value of 
obedience to law, and the greatness of a patriotism 
that knew only the Republic. 

His two terms as president came to an end, and 
then Grant determined to see the world. 

He saw it under great advantages, for whether 
he liked it or not he was a great man, and the 
whole world was glad to do him honor. Kings 
and princes, queens and rulers, invited him. to their 
palaces ; the great ones of the earth vied in atten- 
tions and respect. He visited the Queen of Eng- 
land at Windsor and the Emperor of Germany at 
Berlin ; he met the President of France at Paris ; 
and was the guest alike of the boy King of Spain 
and the King of Portugal. The Pope at Rome and 
the King of Italy saw and talked with him. The 
King of Denmark and the King of Sweden, the 
Emperor of Austria and the Czar of all the Rus- 



380 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

sias, the Viceroy of China and the Mikado of Japan, 
— all met and honored the tanner's son who had 
been conqueror and president, while everywhere the 
people thronged the ways to see him and shouted 
their welcomes to one who, from the people, had 
sprung into greatness and renown. 

Then he came home again, the same simple, 
modest, clear-headed, practical American citizen 
and gentleman, the hero of a nation, who had 
shown all the world how a man can be a great 
soldier and a great American and yet be a true- 
hearted, unpretending, quiet, and high-minded 
man. 

But they were to see him fight one other battle. 
It was the hardest that any man can fight — the 
battle against wrong, dishonor, and death. 

When General Grant came home again after his 
journey around the world he did not like to be 
idle, so he put what money he had into business and 
began, so he thought, to grow rich. He made his 
home in New York City, in a fine house presented 
to him by the people who so honored and admired 
him, and filled with the mementoes and trophies 
that told of his success and renown. 

He had reached the pinnacle of fame. Hon- 
ored by his countrymen, respected by the world, 
there was but one thing he desired — to leave his 
children a heritage equal to his fame. For their 
sake he went into business, hoping much ; but he 
failed. An unprincipled investor caught the old 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 381 

soldier in his toils, traded upon the name^ the 
reputation, and the honor of the man who trusted 
him, and, when the crash came, — as come it did, — 
the name, the reputation, and the honor of the 
great general were dragged in the dust. 

He was stripped of everything ; he was almost 
penniless ; all his money was gone and, woi'se still, 
others who had trusted in him had lost their money 
too. This thought quite broke the hero down. 
The general who had never known defeat was 
well-nigh defeated at last. 

It made him sick. It weakened a constitution 
already undermined by the shock of a fall on the 
ice, and developed a trouble in his throat that 
brought him montlis of suffering, of torture, and of 
agony. 

But just as he had marched to battle courage- 
ously, so, now, he faced disaster as bravely. He 
set to work to make his losses good, and because 
all the world wished to hear about his great deeds 
of war he set himself to the task of writingf the 
story of his life and his campaigns. 

He kept himself alive to do this. For over a 
year he fought ruin and a terrible pain as stoutly 
as he had ever battled with the enemies of the 
Republic, while the pity of the world went out to 
him, and kings and beggars sent him words of 
sympathy. 

Day after day he labored, while disease battled 
for the mastery. In June, 1885, he was removed to 



382 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

a mountain-top near Saratoga, but still he labored 
on, now brought very near to death, now snatching 
from pain and weakness another day of respite. 

So he held death at bay until July. At last his 
book was completed. He had won his last fight. 
Then, his work finished, his desire for life was 
gone. Pain and weakness held him a little longer 
a sufferer, and then, on the 1«wenty-third of July, 
1885, in the cottage on Mount McGregor, the end 
came quietly; the news spread over the land and 
to the uttermost ends of the earth. General Grant 
was dead. 

The world mourned. Men and women every- 
where had learned to honor the great general, as 
much for his victories over disaster, disgrace, and 
pain as for his conquests in war and his leadership 
in peace. Amid the tolling of bells and the boom-" 
ing of cannon the Republic laid lier greatest soldier 
to rest, and as she had honored him in life honored 
him also in death. 

On the heights of Riverside, overlooking the 
lordly Hudson and the great and prosperous city 
of New York, there rises above the ashes of this 
simple but grand American a splendid monument, 
which is a landmark for miles around. It seems 
almost too great a display for one who was himself 
the most unassuming of men. But it testifies the 
nation's regard for him who was twice its chief 
magistrate — the Republic's pride in the great 
soldier whose deeds meant the licpublic's salvation. 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 383 

And, as time goes on, longer than that great gray 
mausoleum shall stand above his silent dust, while 
the words honor, duty, courage, simplicity, will, 
and loyalty mean anything to the world, so long 
will the nation remember and the Republic revere 
the name and fame of Ulysses S. Grant. 

No man is perfect ; all of us make mistakes ; all 
of us have our shortcomings and imperfections. 
But, much as his time criticised him, posterity will 
see that he was both misjudged and misunderstood. 
Grant was a great man doing great things. But he 
was also a simple, silent, honest, straightforward 
soldier, trying to do his duty as he saw it, in his 
own simple and manly fashion. 

Sagacious, resolute, energetic, aggressive, auda- 
cious, courageous, indomitable, indifferent to danger 
or fatigue, relentless in battle, magnanimous in 
victory, loyal to principle, faithful to friends, 
honest, upright, patriotic, national, and American, 
— such was Ulysses S. Grant; and these were the 
attributes that brought him to success and have 
made his name forever famous and forever his- 
toric. 

From Winthrop to Grant, from the genius of 
colonization to the genius of victory, these sketches 
of Historic Americans have carried us steadily for- 
ward. They have shown us how, by persistence 
of will, loyalty to conviction, love for the people, 
for progress, for honor, valor, justice, intelligence. 



384 HISTORIC AMERICANS. 

truth, and right, great minds have builded, gov- 
erned, guarded, served, and saved the Republic, and 
handed it down, for the Future to emuhite and 
to improve upon the Past. This the Future will 
do ; for great examples never are in vain. True 
Americanism lives in these stirring lines of Wood- 
berry, mindful of the Past, hopeful of the Future : 

" It cannot be that men who are the seed 

Of Washington should miss fame's true applause ; 

Franklin did plan us ; Marshall gave us laws ; 
And slow the broad scroll grew a people's creed — 
One land and free ! Then, at our dangerous need, 

Time's challenge coming, Lincoln gave it pause. 

Upheld the double pillars of the cause, 
And, dying, left them whole — our crowning deed. 

'' Such was the fathering race that made all fast, 
Who founded us, and spread from sea to sea, 
A thousand leagues, the zone of liberty, 

And built for man this refuge from his past — 

Unkinged, unchurched, unsoldiered ; shamed were we, 

Failing the stature that such sires forecast." 



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